


mud in my mouth

by Ananasaisdead



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ((read: team reactions)), Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Assumptions, Dark fic, Enemies to Friends, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Flashbacks, Gen, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Humiliation, Hunk & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Internal and External Turmoil, Keith & Lance (Voltron) Friendship, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) Backstory, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith goes from not giving any shits, Langst, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Pidge (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Platonic Relationships, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Assault, Slow Burn, Supportive Coran (Voltron), Torture, Trauma, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomiting, Whump, kind of???, lance does not deserve this, or should I say rivals to friends?, platonic klance, probably, realistic familial reactions, the real world is harsh, they're all trying really hard, they're all trying though, to giving ALL the shits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2020-10-27 06:22:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 83,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20755769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ananasaisdead/pseuds/Ananasaisdead
Summary: In which Lance's flirting finally gets him somewhere. It's just somewhere that he really, really doesn't want to be.~-~It was only when he felt the weight of her entire body pinning his own down completely that he realized what was about to happen to him.It was the bad thing. The thing that Lance’s sisters were warned about. The reason why Rachel couldn’t go out at night by herself in that dress without wearing a coat, even when she was more than old enough to look after herself, and it was the middle of August in Arizona. The forbidden, secret thing that made people choke and shy away from the cameras on the late-night shows Lance would discover as he was looking for Cartoon Network when he was very young; too young to even begin to understand. [[READ TAGS]]or, alternatively, the self-indulgent lance centric slow-burn recovery fic that I wanted to see happen in this fandom. don't @ me.





	1. britrock

**Author's Note:**

> !!READ THE TAGS PLEASE!!  
If you are triggered easily by what the tags warn, then do. Not. Read this. This fic is not for the faint of heart or the squeamish. It’s deals with a dark topic and I am so sorry, but hey, if you’re here and you can vibe with that, then stick around, have a few drinks and whatnot, just make yourself comfortable :’)))  
[[seriously though, stay safe :-/]]
> 
> What this story HAS:  
~An underage (essentially a child) who is, within the plot, sexually assaulted. This is covered without many graphic details (by my standards) but is referenced often and in such a way that some might find it triggering or difficult to read.  
~Eventual recovery, and what is written to be realistic mental health struggles pertaining to the trauma inflicted, including PTSD flashbacks, dark thoughts, strong mood swings, minor loss of appetite, triggers associated with the trauma, panic attacks, insomnia, etc.  
~Imperfect characters who make mistakes and don't always know what's best, despite good intentions.  
~Referenced past childhood abuse and described negative experiences with group homes and foster parents.  
~Group bonding and healing! The main focus is on Lance, but there are many POV switches so that the story can be told from several different and unique angles.  
~All healthy relationships are strictly platonic. The Paladins (+Allura and Coran) are all friends!!  
~Characters dealing with grief and loss, references to possibly dead loved ones.  
~Swearing! (I had to say it somewhere)  
  
What this story does NOT have:  
~Depictions of direct and purposeful self-harm  
~Glorification/sexualization/romanticization of the traumatic event or the aftermath  
~Any characters with developed/clinical eating disorder(s)  
~Sexual relationships or themes besides the initial nonconsensual encounter  
~Offensive/discriminatory slurs.  
~A sad ending! I can't write them! So no matter how slow coming, this fic will have a happy ending I swear to god!!!!

“Can we go back to the Castle yet?” Keith asked stiffly, and as dreadfully monotone as ever. Turning to him with an easy grin, Lance saw that he was, rather dramatically, dragging the heels of his feet along the floor (not unlike a stubborn kid), while still somehow managing to keep up in pace with him and Hunk as they walked. It only made Lance's shit-eating grin widen.

“_Relax_ Mullet," he pat Keith's head in reference, to the continued disdain of his teammate, "We’re supposed to be having _ fun_, remember? You do know what that word means, right?”

He watched Keith’s exasperated frown deepened into a scowl. It fit his face well, Lance thought.

“This isn’t my type of ‘fun’” he protested, and there went his arms, crossing over his chest for what seemed like the hundredth time that minute. It was he default stance.

Almost on cue and mere moments before Lance managed to open his mouth again, Hunk’s stomach growled, and he laughed nervously at Lance’s blatant disapproving glance.

“Yeah...I'm, uh, gonna wanna head back soon too, none of the food here really catches my interest, not really much of a...bug, fan, really. And," he bit his lip, "it’s getting kind of boring—”

“What do you mean _boring?" _Lance shouted, drawing hoards of reptile eyes, "Come on! We’re hanging out like a couple, er, threesome-! UGH!" he stopped, shaking his head, "Like a _group _of bros! Plus, we still have like, fifteen entire more dobashs before Allura said we’d have to be back! Don’t waste these final beautiful moments!”

He looked between the two Paladins, his arms flailing around wildly to exaggerate his point. Neither of them seemed particularly...._swayed_, with the display.

The three of them had been wandering around some random Reptilian Mall stop for nearly an hour now, sometimes grabbing supplies and other things that caught their interests, but mostly just talking and watching Lance flirt unsuccessfully with the reptilian folk. The whole point was to supposedly give them something fun to do, but Lance could see the real reason behind the requested, obviously unnecessary supply run. 

The truth was that Pidge had been...antsy, lately. She was far more snappish and quick to instigate fights at the flip of a dime, barricading herself in her room and spending hours tinkering with assorted technology. It was a battle to even convince her to eat meals with the team, and when they did get her out of her hole she looked completely drained and unnaturally pale. There were also times when he'd pass by her room and hesitate at the muffed quiet sound of drawn-out crying. The immediate gut instinct as a brother and very cool uncle was to barge in and check in on her had to be repressed, because Lance recognized that she wasn't like his sisters, and she wouldn't appreciate it the way they would. Not until she found her family.

He told her with a soft smile on several occasions that he was there if she needed, and ruffled her hair when he passed by, but she was giving them all the cold shoulder and her health was reflecting on her lack of any self-care. She was slower in training, more emotional in her battlefield decision making, and definitely far too drowsy to properly strategize with the team. Any attempts at pulling her away from her search were rewarded with a heated screaming match and being practically shoved out of the room. And that was when her door wasn't locked.

Lance, even though he understood how bad the self-destructive behavior was on her state as a Paladin and a teenager, couldn't really blame Pidge either.

He couldn't imagine what it was like losing people like that, and having the resources to possibly save them but being told _no, you have other responsibilities now, focus._

If Lance was in her position he'd be fighting tooth and nail to get his family back too, and let nobody get in his way. Period. The way that things were now was bad enough, even though he knew that they were probably at least all safe and together. Hopefully safe, at least, because really, as far as Lance knew something bad happened, and he wouldn't know until he got back. And there was always the chance that he _didn't _come back—but no. No he would. Definitely, without a doubt, he would. He was just playing the waiting game, that was all.

It was a long one.

He flattened out the longing to see his family that so commonly spiked, and focused more on the mission. Specifically on getting Hunk to settle on any of the food at the mall, and Keith to tolerate the situation, for just a _little_ longer. Allura had given them a time frame as a request, but Lance had dutifully received it as an objective.

The get-them-all-out-of-the-castle-for-as-long-as-possible objective, as Lance so lovingly called it in his head.

He'd played dumb to it, but yes, Lance knew that they'd been sent to the planet to keep the Castle quiet for a while and give Pidge motivation to emerge from her burrow, and also maybe to get the three of them out of Shiro's hair while him, Allura and Coran discussed important diplomacy, leader stuff. They were adorned with the bare minimum of a disguise—some face paint that nobody was 100% sure was face paint and weird, velvety clothes—but were allowed to keep each of their bayards and helmets for emergency self-defense, temperature regulation, and translation help; the planet was basically the equivalent of an oven on preheat, and most of the residents did _not _speak English (or Spanish, which was a bummer).

The planet itself was a neutral zone in a system that hadn't yet heard of their alliance to avoid any unwanted attention (positive or negative), and the culture was peaceful enough for them to not have to keep their guard up so high.

Basically, they were locked and loaded, and Lance was enjoying some time to stretch his legs, see the sights, and meet some cute aliens.

“Why didn’t Shiro come along, then, if we’re hanging out like….bros...?” Keith asked, begrudgingly using Lance’s vocabulary in a super funny way.

Lance shrugged and held back a giggle, because Keith was clearly not in the mood to be made fun of, and he was already on pretty damn thin ice. Lance might have a whole lot of fun pushing Keith's buttons, but he valued his own life, and the look Keith was giving him borderlined on his trademark murder-face.

“Well, I mean Shiro is kinda more like a space _dad_, and less like a bro, if you know what I’m saying?" he explained flippantly, "Oh, and also I asked him, and he didn’t want to come.”

There was only a beat where the two processed his words, before Keith promptly stopped in his tracks, meeting Lance's eyes with an expression of pure, saturated exasperation on his face.

“Are you kidding me?!" he groaned, and looks who's drawing too much attention _now—_"I could have said no to this!?”

Lance also paused then, realizing a little too late that he'd succumbed to the desire to goad Keith (it was just _so _easy!), and attempted damage control.

“I mean sure, yeah, but why would you do that? We’re supposed to be having f—”

"Stop _saying_ that," he near growled, “This _isn't_ fun! I’m tired, and I'm sweaty, and hungry, and now I’m fucking _leaving_.” Keith hissed over him, now looking a little pissed before he turned his back to them.

“Hey! Watch your language, there are children here, at least I think those are—Keith, where are you going!?”

Lance yelled as Keith stormed off through the crowds in the direction of the Castle, leaving Lance miffed. It wasn’t like Lance had _ forced _ Keith to join them or anything. Truth be told, he was actually surprised when Keith had agreed to come. Shiro had only asked for Hunk and _definitely _Lance to go, as they tended to be the ones causing the most trouble—inviting Keith had been a bit of a last-minute bonus. He'd chalked his involvement up to boredom, hardly considering an alternative. It was his own stupid emo fault for thinking that the social interaction was mandatory or something (which it sometimes was—they were a _team—_but he was still dumb).

He looked back to Hunk, who was eyeing some of the storefronts hungrily, and gave him a playful nudge, flicking his wrist in Keith's direction.

“Whatever. Forget him, right? At least I still have my _best_ bro of all here with me,” Lance grinned, hooking his arm around Hunk’s shoulder.

“Yeah…about that—” Hunk mumbled shamefully. Lance’s grin dropped, and so did his arms.

“Are you kidding me dude? _ You’re _ ditching me too?” Lance whined. What the _crow_? It was kinda expected for Keith to chicken out, but Lance thought he could count on his best friend to stick around. They were both supposed to be having fun, after all. They really didn't get to do light stuff like this much anymore without some underlying threat or task that more often than not put their lives at risk!

Hunk rubbed that back of his neck, sighing.

“It’s not _ just _ because I’m hungry. It’s just really, _ really _hot here, and I’m starting to sweat, the facepaint is getting itchy and okay, a big part of it is that I’m hungry, but you should be too! It’s noon, we all _barely _ate breakfast, there’s nothing here but crickets and worms, and..lettuce, I think—? But I’m going back.” he grumbled, although he looked apologetic as well.

Lance pouted, shoulders sagging,

"Really choosing green goo over your best friend, huh?" he said comedically, but not without some disappointment. Hunk’s gaze turned even more soft, and he put a hand on Lance's shoulder. "Come on, you know it's not like that."

Lance hummed, looking away, and Hunk's stomach growled again. He heard him sigh deeper as he slowly took back his hand and started walking away from the conversation.

“I’ll see you back at the Castle in a few, maybe we can even convince Allura and Coran to play Sorry with us? If we’re lucky and Keith’s cooled down we might even be able to peer pressure him into it too! We can have fun at the Castle, you’ll see!” He yelled through cupped hands as he drifted further and further away into the crowd, finishing the exit off with a wave.

Lance sighed in defeat and let Hunk go without further complaint since his points _ were _valid enough, but it felt like failure. A goal he'd made up that nobody was paying attention to but still failure. It threw off his good mood, feeling lonely in the crowd of people who only thought of him as another faceless body to walk past. Lance’s stomach was rumbling too, and he was starting to sweat through both his trademark shirt he was using as an undershirt (regrettably) and his alien costume. Gross. He'd clearly underestimated what Coran had classified as 'moderate levels of heat'.

And to Hunk's credit, the facepaint was beginning to irritate his face a bit—and the sweat was definitely not helping. If Coran was wrong and it turned out the paint _wasn't _fit for human skin and gave him a rash, he was going to riot in the name of his skincare routine. Maybe he'd even set up an elaborate prank, get Hunk and maybe even Pidge involved when she was feeling up to it. A _space _prank. That would definitely be something. 

He fanned his neck with the collar of his shirt as he huffed lightly, wishing that he was at least wearing his entire armor set so that he wouldn't be _roasting_. The only thing sheltered was his head, his helmet keeping it regulated, but still not quite cold, either. Lukewarm, at best.

Stupid reptilians and their stupid....being cold-blooded....ness. Lance wondered if this was like, totally normal room temperature for them. It was hard to picture, in his close-minded warm blooded state. 

Curse his humanity, truly.

As he walked, he considered just heading for the Castle early and taking Hunk up on his offer, but tossed the thought away. There were only like, ten minutes left anyway, so he might as well take advantage of the super awesome space mall while he still could. Lance was not a _quitter!_

Also, he knew that the main person Pidge needed a break from was him. On his own, Hunk was a pretty mellow dude, and Keith stayed alone when he wasn't training. He could Pidge this, at the very least.

With a small disappointed—but still hopeful—huff, Lance continued on through the grand expanse of the mall, looking from store to store with varying amounts of interest. He kept a quiet tune under his breath, alternating between humming and whistling. 

A large part of the desert culture the reptilians harbored reminded Lance of how he was brought up, with the bright happy colors and painted skulls decorating store-fronts. He’d even picked up a few small knick-knacks along the way that were especially reminiscent of home that he would show off to his younger brothers and sisters when he returned to earth, whenever that may be. They existed now as a collective clump in one of his pockets, the more fragile ones wrapped carefully for protection.

The sights managed to rekindle his desire to stick around for as long as possible, while simultaneously making his frustration towards his teammates worsen. He was just trying to be friendly! At the _ very _ least he was trying. Keith was obviously a more reclusive person in general, so Lance had thought opening up his arms and offering him his undying friendship and playful competition would win him over eventually.

Okay, that was a little bit of an exaggeration, but he'd seriously been putting forth more effort to be more open and nice around Keith with Pidge being out of the count of Hunk's newfound business. The guy wasn't the worst; he could be fun when he didn't have a stick up his ass (excuse his language) so Lance thought involving him might've been a good way to meet him half-way.

Well, clearly, he’d so far thought wrong. His multiple attempts at including and welcoming him only seemed to result in Keith pushing away even _ more_. Well, whatever. It was his loss, anyway. More friendship for Lance.

It wasn’t long into his walk and internal side rant that Lance’s phone began its slow flow of reminders from all sorts of different people that he would have to come back to the Castle soon (he had a bit of a reputation for always being the last back in these types of situations, but could you _ blame _ him? Space malls were _ awesome!_). 

The constant buzzing in his pocket was ruining his reminiscing even further, and Lance could feel the start of a sour mood approaching, so he muted his phone in a show of pettiness. They needed to learn to have some faith in his semi-trusty internal clock, already! Sure, it'd been wrong before maybe _once, _or a couple times more or something....but whatever! Lance was, in fact, a person who believed in second chances. And third-but-possibly-more times was the charm!

Lance walked past store after store after store, and was just starting to consider heading back early after all when he spotted a shop-holder through the window that stuck out to him. She was very dark, very tall, and very handsome-er, well, pretty. Plus Lance’s now sweaty legs were beginning to get tired from doing so much _ walking _ all the time, and this shop, ‘ZeZarks Tubes and Roots’, according to Lance’s helmet’s built-in translator, was as close as he was going to get.

He strolled casually inside, an air of confidence and bounce to his step, but his steps stilted when he got a closer look at her.

Okay, Lance knew that he’d already remarked that she was tall, but now that he was seeing her up _ close_, jeez—she wasn’t just tall; she was _ gigantic _(in the nicest, non-judgmental, most respectful way possible). Lance guessed that she was almost_ twice_ his height, which made her a stark outlier amongst the rest of the aliens Lance had seen around the mall who stuck closer to the average human height. To Lance’s relief though, she did seem to belong to some sort of reptile species with her slitted orange and yellow eyes and general anatomy. 

He couldn't help but observe, though, that unlike the majority of the reptilian families Allura and Coran had forced all the Paladins to sit through a briefing about, she (or Lance assumed she was female; you never really knew with how diverse most planets societal customs were) lacked any sort of scales, having a blubbery smoothness to her dark complexion. Lance cautiously hovered near the entrance, pretending to hold up some sort of vegetable-like food and examine it as he considered the situation.

She had a size advantage on him, and the situation definitely struck Lance as foreboding. But, then again, what did Lance know about alien species anyway? He’d been pretty bored throughout the lecture, and his attention and memory had probably suffered for it. She looked lizard-like enough for him, even if she resembled something closer to an earth newt. Tomato tomoto, right?

Plus, the list with according images and identification to shy away from had been pretty short, and Lance was relatively sure he would be able to recognize one of them if he saw them, especially if they were as distinctive as the lady before him.

He had been warned, of course, that if the species couldn’t be identified or recalled from either list, he was still to approach the situation with careful guardedness, or not at all. Maybe it was best if Lance was just to leave and check out another place; he had enough time left to do so, even if getting back on time would be a close call.

Lance’s wariness and confliction was, however, quickly overruled as his eyes traced to his bayard. He straightened, putting down the produce. What was he even worried about anyway? He was a Paladin of Voltron, and it was very silly, if not rude of him, to judge someone based on how they looked. He’d already approached multiple pretty aliens he didn't recognize the features of, the only difference now being her size. The worst-case scenario, as always, was a brutal and loudly embarrassing rejection that the whole store would turn their heads to. Even then, Lance hardly had to worry about that considering the store was near empty. He truly had nothing to lose. 

And, Lance told himself, even by the tiny chance that she _ was _ hostile, he had enough trust in himself to believe he would be able to fend her off. Despite what the team seemed to think, Lance was perfectly capable of defending himself; especially against just _ one _ person. He might not be some close-combat wizard like Keith and Shiro were, but he could throw a decent punch and execute basic dodges; months of daily training had at least taught him that much.

With that final comfort in mind, Lance wasted no time, waltzing right up to the counter with a confident strut and smirk on his face.

Her focus, which had previously belonged to a magazine Lance couldn’t read because of the small foreign writing his helmet didn’t want to decipher, turned to him with bored interest when he entered her line of sight. Her arms were crossed and her posture was casual, not looking like anything of a threat at all. In fact, the vibe she gave off even reminded Lance of your average girl at the counter back on earth. The connection relaxed Lance even further, and he found himself falling into his usual regimen.

“Are you a parking ticket?” He prompted smoothly with one hand on his hip, and the other regarding the unamused reptilian, “Because you’ve got _ fine _written all over you.” 

Her stance didn’t change, but Lance couldn't help but notice that she didn’t look back down at her magazine either. If anything, she just looked vaguely bothered, and even a bit confused.

It struck Lance suddenly then, like a wack to the back of the head, that hey! Maybe, just maybe, the _alien_ had no idea what the _earth_ concept of a parking ticket was.

He internally kicked himself, clearing his throat. Now would probably be a good time to leave and preserve his remaining pride, knowing that she’d ultimately just be a little weirded-out at the strange interaction, but Lance refused to accept defeat. Who knew when the next time they would be able to stop off somewhere and have _ fun _ would be; he needed to make this worth it.

It was still savable. He still had her attention.

Okay, so no earth material based pick-ups. Duh. That was fine, Lance still had _ plenty _to choose from.

He looked back up at her (the task was comically hard because of her height) regaining his composure once again.

“Sorry, but I was just wondering if you had an extra heart. Mine was just stolen.” he said with a teasing smile.

It took an awkward moment or two for the helmet to work and for her to react, in which Lance was seriously thinking of just purchasing something cheap for the trouble and meeting up with the others, before she smiled. She actually, genuinely smiled, and then _chuckled_in amusement.

“You are very funny,” she remarked with a heavy, very foreign accent that even Lance’s universal translator had trouble with. He didn’t care though; his stomach was filled with pleased butterflies, so he continued.

“So, do you have a name, or can I call you mine?” he needled on with what he hoped was an attractive charm, even throwing in some finger-guns for extra measure.

She laughed once again, even longer and more bubbly this time, and slid her magazine to the side, leaning over with her elbows on the table to level with him better.

“My name is Taghlabuu,” she grinned. Her voice was smooth and exotic, even through the translators' lag. "But name me Tahgla,"

Lance felt giddy; this was _actually_ going better than the majority of today had gone, so he decided to run with it, feeling now maybe too confident and even a little bit of sincere attraction. Maybe she’d even actually give him her number; it’d be something to do when he was bored hanging around the Castle. Lance was sure that the translation would work even better over text.

He wished that Keith and Hunk were here, to, y’know, see him _ not _suck at flirting. Figures the one time they weren’t with him was the one time his charm was working its magic.

“You know, I’m no mathematician, but I’m pretty good with numbers,” he goaded, leaning in even closer, “Tell you what, give me yours and see what I can do with it.”

Taghlabuu didn’t answer his question, although her smile did grow even further, showing off the whites of her teeth. She looked around the room for a second, and then stepped back from the stool she’d been sitting on, standing up and turning. A very small, very strange feeling hit Lance then when she reached her full height, but it was gone before he could dwell. He was too memorized. 

She moved slowly and deliberately towards the door leading to the back of the store, and her head tilted towards Lance every so slightly with a slight cocky smirk on her face as her tail waved back and forth.

Lance face heated. He considered repeating himself, thinking that maybe the translation had gotten lost, when she lowly, but sweetly, sang;

“Come with me.” 

Lance...didn't know what he would be following her for, but there was something thrilling that came with the idea of going through that door. Maybe she’d thought he had asked something else, and he flushed at thinking what exactly that 'something else' might mean. It would be painfully awkward for Lance to clarify from such a distance, though.

He got up, reminding himself again that he had his bayard with him, so entering a room that a stranger was beckoning him into wasn't an issue, and followed her through the entrance.

Crossing the threshold, a cool breeze hit him as the temperature drastically dropped from hot, sticky humidity to very cold. It felt nice though, like slipping into the ocean when the heat of the summer beach sun was getting too intense. He was also bombarded with a pungent smell of motor oil mixed with something a bit too sterile. It reminded Lance heavily of Hunk’s workshop back on earth right after he went through and cleaned it, and did wonders on easing his nerves.

As he meandered through the short hall, he had to remind himself that not all species were advanced enough technology-wise to have portable phones, shown through many of the more primitive planets Voltron had brought into their alliance. Maybe Tahgla had a corded phone or something? Maybe the term 'number' meant something else? It would be a bit of a let down if she didn't have one though. Days in the Castle without action were really starting to drive him stir-crazy, and it just always seemed like everyone had _something _to work on, to practice, to do. 

Everyone except for him. Nothing as of late had particularly piqued his interest or involved him, not since the wondered, awed phase of becoming a Paladin had mostly run its course. Training was becoming more of a frustrating chore, and the few steps forward of progress he made once in a while weren't encouraging compared to the leaps and bounds the rest of his team seemed to accomplish in a single day. He needed a carrot, a new entertainment, and getting to show off to the team that he'd scored a girl's number was an added bonus.

She steered them off into a side-room that had an intricately weaved couch, one of those orange sports water jugs that you could find similarly back on earth, and a desk with paperwork spread about it. For all it was it looked a lot like your classic office; the only difference between strangely shaped vases and pictures on the wall that were definitely not akin to any of earth's culture.

Once Lance had fully entered the room, looking for anything that may resemble a phone, Taghlabuu side-stepped behind him and nudged the door shut. It happened quickly, so Lance didn't get time to consider why she'd do it, much less stop her. But when they stilled in their new positions, Tahgla in front of the door and him a few feet in front of her, Lance felt something unpleasant race up and down his spine as he turned to face her again. 

His expression tried to be curious, but he didn't feel like he was pulling it off.

He was getting a little wary, especially since the alien wasn’t moving to find anything; she kept her eyes downcast towards Lance, who took a step or two backward without thinking about it. The position she'd put herself in in order to close the door was very...very close. Lance wondered if the planet she came from had heard of personal space.

Nobody moved.

Lance laughed forcibly to break the silence, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. He resisted the urge to take another step away. That would be rude.

“So, uh, why are we here, again?" he asked, to no immediate response. She just stared. Her seeming lack of needing to blink did _not _make it better.

"Because uhm, where I’m from, us humans, we contact each other through these things called phones. Y’know, that’s why I was asking for your number, and, and, here—” he fumbled for his phone, which was in his pocket, to show her. Lance didn’t care how weird he was being, because she alien next to him was acting at least ten times weirder, and that was even compared to the social disaster that was _Keith._

Also Lance was nervous, and he wanted to do something with his hands, because she still wasn’t talking and—

His actions were cut when she grabbed his left wrist in a very tight grip; her hand was huge, so he imagined that it didn’t take much force to do so. Lance tried to pull it back. She wouldn't let him.

All of the alarms went off at once in Lance’s head as she laughed mildly again, still smiling the same as before, but it _ wasn’t _ the same as before. It didn’t feel the same.

It felt threatening.

"—Ah, uh, sorry, that looked bad. Phones aren't weapons, they're more of a...communication device, actually?" he surmised, hoping it would be enough to get her to just let go of his wrist—and it was starting to actually hurt because she had him in a very tight grip, and he still didn't know _why he was here._

Lance was suddenly _very_ aware of just how much bigger Taghlabuu was than him. She practically dwarfed his small form. His eyes flitted over to his bayard and—_no_, what was he doing? He couldn't use force on some random cashier that was being really off, and even a bit creepy. People...had different cultures, and mannerisms, and maybe this was a sign of, uh gratitude? Or maybe Lance had done something wrong? Of course, she was now seriously freaking him out and he felt really, really...uncomfortable—but she hadn’t done anything to warrant him to flat out attack her! She was still a defenseless civilian. A...A really big, really defenseless civilian—but Lance was a Paladin of Voltron, who was armed, and, also very small.

He laughed again, borderline hysterically, trying, and failing, to yank his arm free from her iron grip. 

Lance reminded himself that was normally good with words, he could talk himself out of practically anything back on earth. He should try to voice his authority as a Paladin of Voltron and _ demand _ her to let him go so that he could leave this room and this store and attend to official defender of the universe business, but all that left his mouth was a rushed jumble of stuttering excuses.

“I, uh, just remembered I _ really _ have to go, like, now. My friends will get worried if I don’t leave soon they’re really impatient and we have things we really have to do and they’re expecting me to already be there and if I’m not soon they’ll probably come looking for me and, oh man, that would be—”

She forced a large, smooth finger to his mouth, effectively shutting up his rambling, and pulled his body closer to hers. Lance’s entire breath caught.

“Shhhh, it is okay, little one. You’ll like it, I’m good,” she chided, sounding amused like earlier; cocky.

Lance wasn't sure how much of what she was saying was the translator botching up her sentence, and how much were her actual words, but a message of_ this is seriously wrong _shot through his head, ringing louder than the sirens. Nevermind, _screw_ not jumping to conclusions, Lance did _not _want to _be _here anymore.

His free hand shot down, aiming to make a grab for his bayard, but before it could even make contact with the gun she shoved him with immeasurable strength at the couch, lifting him off his feet and practically throwing him.

The back of his head hit the hard metal part of the couch with enough force to knock him unconscious had he not been wearing his helmet, but even with it he was seeing blotches of little white dots dance in his vision for several seconds. The incredible, sharp pain made Lance’s yell he’d barely even registered making cut short, and before he could do anything, Taghlabuu was upon him again, yanking his helmet off, exposing his face to new air, and tossing it to the other side of the room. 

"Ah _ow_, crap, holy crow—I-I think there's a misunderstanding! I don't mean anything hostile, I just wanted—" she smiled and covered his mouth again and, to Lance's terror, he realized that without his helmet, there was no way for her to understand what he was saying. His blood ran cold with dread, and Lance began shaking his head and waving his arms to communicate his confusion, surrender, apology, _whatever _she needed to hear, through the intense pain blossoming on the back of his skull that _pounded_.

She ignored his frightened gestures fully, instead positioning herself over him and making the couch creak under the pressure as Lance felt his little control of the situation ripped from his hands.

It was only when he felt the weight of her entire body pinning his own completely that he actually realized what was this was.

It was the bad thing. The thing that Lance’s sisters were warned about. The reason why Rachel couldn’t go out at night by herself in that dress without wearing a coat, even when she was more than old enough to look after herself and it was far too warm of a night for a jacket. The forbidden, secret thing that made people choke and shy away from the cameras on the late-night shows that came on before Lance could find Cartoon Network when he was very young, too young to even begin to understand.

Lance _paled._

_Hell no._

"Stop! Get the hell_—_get the _fuck _off me!" he screeched as his body finally caught up to what his brain had discovered, thrashing in instant response.

He untucked his arms, managing to squirm them out in his sudden show of aggression that she clearly hadn't been expecting, using them to try and push her off with all he had. She took one look at his desperation, before she gathered the limbs back together easily and shoved them under again, but Lance still jerked crazily beneath her.

“Don't do this!" he shouted, but she didn't even look at him, didn't get off him and the fact that he couldn't move a single inch terrified him enough alone that his aggression turned to pleas. "_Wait_! Wait—_please_ stop _por favor_ _STOP_! Get _off_ me—!” he was flailing as wildly as he could under the overpowering pressure, clawing and _kicking _and fighting with every fiber of his body—

Her fist came down in a flurry of movement and punched him hard in the jaw, and he heard a pop noise through his strangled desperate cries as hot painexploded in his cheek. He had no time to recover as she leaned in and her mouth enveloped his own, slimy, _ revolting _tongue pushing inside his loose lips and then around inside his mouth, razor-sharp teeth tearing up his gums as his jaw that felt somehow unhinged caught fire from being forced down so far. 

Mortified and disgusted and pained tears slid down his red face as he tried to smush his head deeper into the couch cushion to escape her, but she held him in place by his hair. His panicked sobs were muffled before they could even escape his throat as his body involuntarily shook in horror and disgust.

She pulled away only when Lance felt like he was about to suffocate, leaving Lance gasping and heaving strangled breaths into his soiled lungs through torn up lips. He blanched when he shut his mouth firmly, tongue still feeling the slimy textures, tasting the coppery blood. 

She hissed something sharply in her native tongue, but without his helmet Lance had no idea what she was saying to him (he wasn't sure if he wanted to know) a mix of her own and Lance’s saliva dripping down her chin, no longer smiling.

Lance shook his head violently and wide-eyed through the pain, unable to voice his terror through the mouthful of grossness he _ refused _ to swallow. He tried to spit it out through twisting his neck to the side, but he choked when she suddenly shifted her crushing weight to his stomach, and sprayed it all over himself. Lance gagged in disgust; a wave of nausea shook him violently, and he choked down the arising vomit viciously. He _wouldn’t_ throw up; not now. It would have nowhere to go but all over himself and he wouldn’t be able to deal with _ that. _

She moved to sit up, still keeping him firmly trapped under herself between her thighs, and grabbed Lance’s neck at the jawline with her right hand, forcing his face to smash into the sofa-arm as he kept fighting to keep his food in his stomach. He gagged into the fabric and felt his lips crack worse.

Lance suddenly became aware that with his upper body no longer pinned and his arms somewhat free, he might be able to make a grab for his bayard because she hadn't recognized it as a weapon, but he would only have one shot; he could feel Taghlabuu moving to do something _ else_.

He couldn’t stop his body from shaking and his lower half was all pins and needles from being crushed, so he’d have to be extremely lucky and careful to be able to not only snatch it, but also find the trigger and push before she stopped him. She was fast for her size and apparently had good reflexes since she'd been able to catch his wrist when he'd barely started moving it. There was no time for accuracy or morals, it was do or die time. Now or never. He needed to _go_.

He steeled himself, swallowed his fear and vomit again along with a sob, and reached for his weapon as quickly as he could. 

He felt his hands touch the cool metal, _d__ios _ he felt it, but his uncontrollable quivering and the fact that he couldn't make his _ stupid _ fingers move the way he wanted them to basically made him pick it up and immediately drop it to the floor with a dull clank; forever out of his reach.

Lance’s stomach completely plummeted, entire body locking.

_Shit._

Taghlabuu ceased all motion for a moment, glancing at the weapon, and Lance swore his heart stopped before she snarled lowly; tightening her grip around Lance’s throat to a bruising force that cut off his air.

He tried to breathe, but he couldn't.

He couldn't breathe.

Lance’s hands came up to her killing hold, pawing and scratching and digging his short nails into her arm; but it did nothing oncesoever to her thick impenetrable skin.

He couldn't make a noise, couldn’t take in air, couldn't move, couldn’t breathe oh _dios._

The world around him started going away fast, panic making him see the world through pipe-vision, his very life getting squeezed out of him.

He was going to _ die_.

Lance was going to die, and his friends were going to find him like this or not at all and he would never see them ever again.

Tears rolled down his face and he hardly felt it as he elicited a desperate, strangled choked sound through his blocked airways that might have been a sob, had Lance had more breathing room.

As a final blackness overwhelmed his vision, and the pain around his neck had acutely numbed, he felt himself succumb to her grip; his hands losing strength as he stopped struggling.

Taghlabuu then released her clasp and everything flooded back and Lance took in sweet, sweet air greedily in great, wheezing gulps through his wrecked throat. And if he had been at all paying attention to anything but the relief and _ need _ for air, he might have reacted more than noticed Tahgla letting go of him entirely before she grabbed his waist and shoulder and flipped him in one smooth motion. Lance managed a feared unmuffled yelp right as his face was once again jammed into the ruff cushioned material of the mattress.

And then she grabbed the waistband of his pants and _ tugged. _

“_No._” Lance gasped almost soundlessly. He couldn’t move. She kept at it, trying to reach under him to find his zipper—

“NO! No please stop don't, PLEASE don't please—” he begged and screamed and thrashed as his hands fumbled in absolute desperation to stop what was happening. He couldn’t see anything from his position, yet he knew what was going to happen if she succeeded and she _ couldn’t,_ she couldn’t, she wouldn’t he wouldn’t let it happen to him, he couldn't let her do this—

She finally got his zipper undone despite the frenzied effort on Lance’s end, and wiggled his tight skinny-jeans down his legs. Lance buried his head into the sofa in shame as he tried to very best to stifle his sobbing. It was when she made a grab for his boxers that his head shot up and he screamed at the highest, shrillest octave he could, wide-eyed and terrified as he belted at the top of his lungs, only to earn a quick and painful whack to the head to shut him up that shook Lance’s world and made his brain stilt.

“No! Stop—let me g-go," he sobbed quieter, words pouring out, "I-I don’t want to I don’t WANT to!” he insisted, his face flushing and rushing with ice all together.

Someone had to hear his screams and come to his aid, someone _had _ to, this couldn’t be happening to him—if he was loud enough, then someone would be able to hear him; all they would have to do is hear him and _ look,_ Lance would be okay if someone were to only _ try—_

In a moment of blind, unfiltered panic, Lance _ begged _ for unbeatable leader, his _ hero,_ to save him, to rescue him from this, because Shiro would _never _let anything bad happen to him. Not to any of them.

“Shiro! Someone, _please_ help me, please just hear me, _Shiro!_” he shrieked and gasped with all he had, his face soaked with tears and spit.

This didn’t stop her, nothing did; and with this, his overwrought pleading became higher pitched with mania and intoxicating and electrocuting fear and icy dread as he heard something get taken off of a table nearby. His head was once again forced down into the couch to shut him up, and nomatter how loud or high he screamed, or tried to sob that he just _couldn't_ _breathe, _she'd never let let go.

What would Shiro, or Pidge or Hunk or Keith think? They—they would be so disappointed, so _disgusted_ by him. None of them would _ever _let this happen to them; Shiro and Keith and even Hunk would be able to fight their way out with ease, and surely Pidge was smart enough to figure out _something_ with that brain of hers, but Lance—he had _none _of that. He could do nothing but scream and bawl and beg like a defenseless little kid.

And so Lance's boxers came off as he shut his eyes as tightly as possible and cried, mortified, his toes digging into the mattress and his arms clawing futilely at anything they could reach.

Lance wishes he could say it was anything like how people described it. How you would blank out and then were suddenly somewhere else, somewhere detached from yourself; an outside watcher that could only see but not feel. Not experience.

But it wasn't like that. Not for him.

It was hot, slow, and sweaty and gross, and you felt _ everything _all at once in unrelenting agony as you’re cut open after every intrusion for everyone in the entire world to look and laugh at because you're just too weak, and you're trapped, and its happening it's really happening.

Lance felt disgusting and pathetic and dirty and in so much _pain_, asking whatever god that could possibly exist what he had ever done to deserve such pain. Lance was _ sorry _ that the Blue Lion had chosen him, and he was _ sorry _ he couldn’t be enough, and was so, so _ sorry _for every time he’d ever screwed up and someone else had to pay for it. 

Most of all he was _ sorry _ for flirting with Allura even when he knew that she didn’t like it or return his feelings, and if it could all just be over then Lance swore that he would do everything in his power to let them know it. All he asked was for everything to stop so that he would never have to deal with another tomorrow where he’d have to see his friend’s faces when they saw how _ ugly _ he was now.

So Lance endured. He endured and endured and endured, and nothing would ever be the same again.


	2. alligator skin boots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoooo i'm actually attached to this idea now so expect an entire story!!! I have literally spent the past few hours planning this what is happening  
im going to try and update this one as much as possible, but i'm not even going to bother lying rn. the updates will be terribly inconsistent. but! they will happen B)  
anyway enjoy and from here and onward always be checking the tags!

When Tahgla was done with him, there was nothing left of Lance. 

Even as the weight his body had adapted to was lifted, he couldn't find it in him to move. Instead, he limply lay there, completely unseeing; entirely spent. The color was drained from his sweaty, marred face. He felt exposed and somehow further violated from the chilling air that clung to him, and shivered intensely in response. He felt bone cold.

She was still in the room with him, arranging this and that, and Lance couldn’t bring himself to think anything of it. Couldn’t bring himself to think anything. He had nothing to feel.

The worst had already happened. 

Once she finished her tidying up, she came back to him. Lance shut his eyes firmly, shying away from the presence, but stayed silent and still. Maybe she was like the dinosaurs in the movies; maybe if he didn’t move, didn’t speak, she would leave him alone.

It was a vain hope. She sat next to him on the edge of the futon, and Lance’s entire body recoiled at the contact, but made no movement. He didn't know if he even could.

She didn’t do anything sinister, though. She simply carded her thick hands that Lance remembered really well through his hair, and he found the nerve to open his eyes enough to see her. 

She was smiling softly to herself as she hummed a nameless melody. Lance wished he was dead.

She cooned something in her language, continuing to scratch delicately at his scalp. He whimpered. Lance didn’t like it. It made him feel icky; like it was a praise. Like he was a hers.

Thankfully, the quick stroking of Lance’s head was all she did before getting up and leaving, closing the door behind her not loudly, but not trying to be quiet either.

Lance stayed there for a very long time.

He didn’t know what he was waiting for. Maybe he was waiting to wake up. Maybe this had all been a nightmare. He knew he shouldn’t have watched all those horror movies, Hunk had warned him, and here he was. 

Lance should have listened. He should have listened.

He really should have just listened.

He got up, after a while. His body creaked and protested, and Lance let out a broken noise from the soreness and pain. She had been nice enough to leave him his clothes.

He didn’t look down as he got dressed. He didn’t want to see himself, didn’t want to see what was connected to the aching, stinging pain between his thighs. The soreness that was everywhere. He left his bayard and cracked helmet and finally plucked his phone from his pocket, where he had put it and where it had stayed. He had twelve missed calls and over forty texts, most of which were from Hunk, but he had messages from everyone. He pocketed his phone again, not bothering to read them.

Walking hurt a_ lot_, like there was something broken _inside _him. He felt dry blood and...other things, chip away as it chafed from the friction. 

He limped out of the room and down the hall, somehow knowing that she wouldn’t be there; that she’d be gone. 

When he entered the store and the warmth that came with it, he noticed that there were people now, opposed to earlier. They were looting it with nobody to stop them, and all eyes went to Lance when he came out of the hall. 

He froze up at first, their reptile eyes making something churn and scream inside of him, but then he realized it was probably because they thought they would get them in trouble, because they thought _ he _was the manager.

Haha.

When Lance did nothing to stop them, and showed no interest to report them, they went back to it, leaving him be. He started breathing again—or wheezing, it had a whistley quality to it—as he left the store, keeping his gaze down low to avoid seeing those thin-pupiled eyes.

Lance didn’t know what he was doing, or where he was going, but once he was back into the crowd of mall-goers, he felt the most out of place than he'd ever felt in his life. It made him...oddly bittersweet; frustrated.

There were children smiling and playing, couples holding hands, people just having fun in general.

His eyes stung with tears of frustration, quickly wiping them before they could fall. Where were these people when he was in that room? Had none of them heard him? Or had they just ignored him for the sake of minding their own business? It made Lance’s skin itch that they were so _ happy _when Lance felt so...so….

So _ wrong_.

_He_ felt wrong, this _place _felt wrong, his _body—_

It all felt so wrong now, and Lance didn’t know what to do.

But then he heard a voice, calling him from far away. He didn’t have to look up; he _ knew _ that voice. The voice meant safety, and love, and kindness. He felt pressure behind his eyes for a plethora of strong emotions.

“—nce! Oh my gosh, _ Lance!!” _all he could do was turn his head, before Hunk was suddenly there, right beside him, after having pushed his way through the crowd. 

“Lance, oh god what happened to you? Did you get in a fight?” Hunk asked urgently, but Lance wasn’t really _ hearing _ any of it, or even feeling what he was supposed to at all. He was instead focusing on just how big, how _ close _ Hunk was. 

Lance took a step back.

“Lance, seriously dude, are you good—? We’ve been looking for you for like, _ thirty _minutes, we got worried when you didn’t show up and we couldn’t find you and—” Hunk held his side, catching his breath after having apparently run over to meet him, but the motion bothered Lance, and he took another step back. Just to be sure, and safe. Careful.

“Uhhh, yeah.” Lance answered, his voice small and damaged to a terrible degree. Did those noises actually belong to him? The voice definitely couldn't be his.

“Lance, don’t lie to me, you have a major bruise on your face, man! And, and…” Hunk’s eyes trailed over his body, and Lance shivered. That was weird, he wasn’t even cold anymore. 

“Dude….are you sure you’re okay? You look really roughed up—” Hunk’s concern was interrupted by an extremely frazzled Pidge who, despite her smallness, somehow managed to shove Hunk out of the way.

“Where on _ earth _have you been?! Do you even know how long you’ve been gone for? Or have you been following that “internal clock” of yours?” heavy air quotes on the ‘internal clock’ part, “You have a phone for a reason, Lance, you—” she stopped mid-tirade as she actually got a look at him (that was good. He hated when Pidge was like this at him) and deflated a bit.

“Jeez, what the hell happened to you? You look like you got hit by a truck or something.”

Lance was sure it was a fair description. He felt like he’d been hit by a truck. Scratch that, _ several _ trucks. Scratch _ that_, several _ planes_. Probably didn’t look much better.

“I..I got in a fight.” Lance filled in, using the assumption Hunk had made earlier as a scapegoat. And he wasn’t completely lying, right? It had been a fight. A fight that Lance had devastatingly lost. There was another word somewhere, but he refused it.

“With who?" 

Lance gulped. His throat was raw and it hurt.

He didn't have an answer for that.

Luckily, Pidge didn't get too hung up on it when Lance didn't answer, already jumping away with a slightly cruel expression.

"Well, seems like you lost pretty bad then, huh? You look like shit.” she deadpanned with a side of menace, still coming down from her rage. If they'd gotten Pidge out of her room, they must've been worried. Made sense that she was so mad, then.

The words hurt worse than they should have. Lance wishes he could be more like Pidge; she was small too, but she knew how to make herself _ big_.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Pidge said nothing to this. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and they were looking up at Lance with something unreadable. Hunk, however, was an open book of clear concern who currently had his eyes centered on Pidge as if gauging. Lance didn’t know what expression he was making. He didn’t feel like continuing this conversation. He just wanted to get to the Castle so he could shower and then sleep in his safe bed under the covers for a quintant or ten. Or a hundred. Or forever. Whichever was fine.

“Can we go back to the Castle now?” Lance asked. He didn’t care how atrocious and pitiful his voice was.

Nothing was happening, and Lance really, _ really _ hated that.

Pidge didn’t answer or move right away, which made Lance’s hands start to shake. He clenched them into fists, and his taut lips pulled into a scowl that hurt his jaw. He pushed past her easily, and started limping his way towards the Castle. Lance was done waiting around, he was going to his room and they would leave him _ alone_—

He didn’t make it far because he bumped into Shiro almost immediately.

Lance’s heart was in his throat at the contact, and his entire body jolted backward and away from Shiro and his tall form.

He reminded himself that it was _Shiro_.

He hated that it didn't really help.

“Lance—”

“I know—I know, I’m sorry—” he coughed to get rid of the lump that was suddenly in his throat—and to give himself a moment to compose himself. The cough sounded something akin to a cat hacking up a hairball, “—but can we_ please _talk about it later at the Castle?” fantastic, now his throat wasn’t only scratchy, but it was breaking too. He couldn’t look Shiro in the eyes. He just wanted to go home. He just wanted to be away from this awful, awful place.

Out of the corner of Lance’s peripheral, he could tell Pidge and Hunk were forcing their way through the crowd, so Lance shoved past Shiro and tried really hard not to think about many people were touching him and bumping him and that, that he couldn’t get _ away— _

Lance entered the Castle, closing the giant door-thingy behind him, and then everything was quit again and he could finally breathe.

And so Lance did breathe.

It was all he could do, for now.

‘It’s over now, it’s over, and everything can go back to being fine now! Back to the way it was, nothing even—’

He gulped.

‘Nothing bad even happened. Nothing.’

Then why did Lance still feel so _wrong_? Why did he still see her and what he'd felt, what she'd _done_—

No. No, nothing to see, nothing to hear, nothing to feel, it’s all fine—

“What’s all fine? What happened?"

Lance must have jumped at least four feet into the air, the lower half of his body screaming so bad that he couldn’t suppress his obvious grimace. It felt like he'd sat on broken glass.

He looked up, and there Keith was; casually leaning his weight against the wall across from Lance, scrutinizing him.

Lance looked dumbly back, face flushing in embarrassment. He must've looked so stupid right then.

Must look even more stupid now, saying nothing.

Keith squinted.

“Did you try and fight someone?”

Lance's brows came together in offense. His embarrassment was buried by the accusing rudeness of Keith’s question. And Lance had thought _ Pidge _ had been straight-forward. 

The word 'try' branded itself into his mind and made him frown, but he pushed that away as best he could. Not the time.

“_Yes_, obviously! But you can see just about how well that went,” Lance peppered in sarcasm to make it sound more like Lance was supposed to sound, but even _ he _could tell it was off. There was too much of a defensive hue to it, and it made he sound super suspicious. Keith visually seemed to think so too.

Lance was going to have to come up with a more believable story than just ‘I fought someone’ to please Keith and Shiro. And soon.

“Yeah. I can.” and alright, now he was just being a jerk. Lance crossed his arms accordingly, only exaggerating his irritation a little. Just so he didn't sound as tired, as far away. He kept having to refocus his eyes.

"Do you know where everyone else is?" Keith added, questioning, "They were all out there looking for you, and..."

"Fine, they're all fine. I passed them, they'll be.." Lance realized that that they would all be back, and _really _soon. Even though Lance had been running and he was sure that he'd lost them all in the crowd, it didn't give him much time before they arrived, and he couldn't deal with all of them at once right now, he just _couldn't_.

"...I’m going to my room," he said with blurry eyes, voice still painfully weak, "Tell the others that I’m gonna shower for me, would you?"

Keith said nothing to this, but continued looking him over with his judgmental, penetrating gaze. Lance decided then and there that people looking at him like that was one of his least favorite feelings ever, so he moved to escape when Keith piped up bluntly.

“How’d you get that bruise.”

Lance startled. It wasn’t really a question.

He huffed a chuckle.

"Didn't realize that this was an interrogation." he jeered, but Keith didn't budge, and he was running out of time and needed to _leave_.

His fists clenched and unclenched with a short-tempered sigh. He gave it, because it would be faster.

“Going to have to be more specific there, man.” he relented, trying to force the personality of someone who wasn't bothered at all. He laughed dryly with absolutely nothing behind it, and it showed. He felt like crying for real now, emotions high-strung and close to the surface. He needed to leave.

“Neck.” Keith said, keeping up his poker face. Ah, he supposed that there must indeed be a bruise....there.

Lance wondered what was the worst thing that could happen if he didn’t answer and just left the room, but he figured that he shouldn't. If he told Keith all he wanted to know now, he’d drop it; probably forget it by tomorrow.

But Lance's throat felt tight now. Like the bruises themselves were what was choking him.

“I, actually, it's...ha, she uh, grabbed my, my neck." he tried to breathe, words far harder to say than they should have been, "N’ lifted me off the ground, and, and punched me,” his throat was actively locking up the more he tried to speak, and tears were in his eyes, just waiting for him to blink. It didn’t matter that it was a lie, it made terrible, terrible things pop up in his mind, and he was going to be sick.

"Yeah, uh, that's how—" he lower lip wobbled, and he pursed his lips to get it to stop, "That's how _that _happened, uhm...I'm going to go shower now."

Before he could see Keith’s reaction or give him time to ask anything else of him, Lance was gone.

The tears fell the second his face was out of sight from Keith along with small, stifled noises, and he walked until he rounded the corner. Then he sprinted straight for his room. That was when he fell apart.

Lance’s crying was loud and ugly. He hated it. He hated that it hurt to do even that, and he hated that trying to muffle his noise only made him feel terrified, and he hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

His hands came up to his head and grabbed his hair, growling in frustration and anger and hurt. What was he even crying about?! Why was he so upset? He shouldn’t let something so stupid get to him; he was a Paladin of Voltron, for quiznacks' sake!

He didn’t feel like a defender of the universe _ now _ though. He felt like a small, stupid little kid caught in adult business that he never should have gone near in the first place.

He sat down on his bed, only to feel an awful jab shoot through his—his back. Great, he couldn’t even sit now. How was Lance supposed to sleep it off when he couldn’t even freaking sit down? Maybe he could try and lay on his side, or on his sto—

_ She grabbed his waist and shoulder and flipped him in one smooth motion, forcing Lance to cry out in shock and fear as his face was once again jammed into the ruff cushioned material of the mattress, right before she—_

Lance threw up.

It burned his torn-up mouth and throat with a vigor that had him on the floor; heaving even after there was nothing left. The places where her hands had once touched Lance seemed to writhe and itch; like there were worms just underneath the surface. He couldn’t deal with this now. He couldn’t deal with this _ ever_.

He was thankful for how close he was to a wastebasket, the one stroke of luck he was granted, but the smell was so nasty that he scooted himself away. As he crouched, he was reminded of the acute pain he harbored that only worsened tenfold from the abrupt awkward position. The reminder made him sob just a little more before he stood again, not without pain, and leaned against the wall, wiping his tears away sloppily.

He was filthy now; on the inside _ and _ on the outside. He reeked of vomit, and the inside of his own pants (not the costumes) was stained with red (thankfully it didn’t show through. Lance didn’t know what he would do if it had). 

He really needed to shower.

The idea was simultaneously scary and welcoming; feeling clean was a state Lance very much craved to be in, but the road there wasn’t looking nearly as bright. 

Lance knew what getting thoroughly cleaned meant; what he would have to do and see and feel and touch. But really, when it came down to it, _ showering _wasn’t something he could put off anyway. In a few days he would be far worse than he was now, hygienically speaking. Better to rip the band-aid off all at once than let the wound fester.

Lance put his ear to the door to listen for any sounds of chatter and was perplexed when he heard nothing. He didn’t know if that was what he wanted or not, but either way he knew that the shower wasn’t be used. It was now or never. 

Lance quickly assembled an outfit along with an extra large, thick long-sleeved Altean shirt (that resembled a hoodie) to put on top, before cracking the door open an inch, checking to see if there was anybody down the hall who was just being super silent, before he made a mad dash towards the communal bathroom esque locker room. Luckily, it was pretty close to Lance’s room, a fact that'd never mattered before.

He made it without seeing anybody or getting caught, and a quick inspection of the room told him that he was alone. Lance locked the door (they were usually told not to since it was a joint bathroom, but Lance didn’t care right now), and faced the large Altean-framed mirror.

Ugh. He was a mess.

He had a big red and purple bruise forming on his cheek that covered about a sixth of his face, his lips were split and swollen, and he had heavy eye-crust-looking stuff around his eye that was probably all that remained of his previous tear-streaks. He couldn't see the bump on the back of his head, but he could feel the outline if he touched it, and the pain was definitely still there.

The most noticeable and equally gross thing about the reflection was the multi-colored bruise that was _ very _ noticeably hand-shaped that wrapped around his neck. It made Lance actually sick to look at it. It was a good call telling Keith that half-truth about how the fight had gone down with getting strangled; he'd be more compelled to believe him now.

Fortunately for Lance, he concluded that the only visible injuries were facial, save for the limp that he assumed wasn’t _ too _ obvious. It wouldn’t be as hard to blame it all on a fight now that he actually knew how he looked.

But knowing how he looked was a two way street.

He was disgusting.

Lance was disgusting, and he had only seen what was on the surface level so far. He moaned lowly. This was going to suck.

Lance removed his shirt first, which actually wasn’t particularly hard to do, but he still cringed a little at the subtle damage, His chest and stomach remained almost completely unscathed other than a small bruise here and there that had probably been self-inflicted in his...struggles (don’t think about it don’t think about don’t think about it). 

However, his shoulders and hips weren’t so lucky. They had bruises almost as bad as the one on Lance’s face from when she’d....

If the time came, Lance could blame them on a fight. They were mainly shapeless in the same way that injuries inflicted by punches or kicks were, even if they were strange spots for people to attack him.

Now that the easiest part was over with, it was time, it was time for...for—

His hands hovered over the zipper.

No. No—Lance couldn’t do it.

It wasn’t like getting undressed was the hard part though. Lance didn't think he was _that _ stupid, no. 

Being naked in itself, however—if even for just a moment—was a whole other situation: It would mean having no protection. It would mean admitting to himself that this was a thing that had physically happened. The fact that taking off his stupid pants was a challenge already spoke volumes about how weak he was right now.

But of course he did it anyway.

It was a thoughtless action, because Lance _ knew _ that if he thought too much about it, he would never end up showering and everything would just keep getting worse. It was like he’d pulled out all the cables that connected to his thoughts all at once on a whim—and it wasn’t a good feeling at all—but it worked.

Once the clothing hit the floor, Lance got the feeling he'd gotten when each of his teammates had respectively looked him over earlier only much, much worse. Even though he was alone in the room, he felt out in the open; vulnerable. Like he was standing in a public place. Everyone watching, laughing, judging, and not being able to leave. A dissected frog on display.

And Lance wanted more than words could describe to just keep his eyes shut and not look in the mirror. He didn’t gain anything from doing it, or lose anything from just covering himself up. But what did it mean if he couldn’t even _ see _ himself after this? How cowardly would that make him? How pathetic?

Lance opened his eyes, saw, and started crying. He regretted looking. He regretted it _ so so _bad, and once he looked once, he couldn’t look away.

That was the moment when Lance decided that nobody could _ ever _know. Before it had been something in the back of his conscience that he simply went with, but now it was a rule. A mission. They would all hate him. He wouldn’t be able to be a Paladin. Lance was sure.

He would take this secret to his grave.

The aggressive trembling and irrational paranoia only subsided a little bit once he had a towel on. It was times like these that Lance wished he had a personal bathroom. Instead, they had this dumb locker room for no reason other than because some group of Altean architects decided ten-thousand years ago that the prophesied saviors of the universe would love to share bathing quarters.

Lance clicked his tongue. _Yes, _blame it all on Altean architects. That made everything _so _much better.

His eyes caught on the door.

...Lance prayed nobody would try and get in while he was showering. At _least _let him have this _one _thing.

Lance stepped into the security of the advanced Altean shower-space and shed his covers before turning on the boiling blast—and that was hardly an exaggeration in the slightest. 

The pressure startled Lance at first from the force as his steps stilted, but eventually it became a comfort. The warmth and feeling of safety and cleanliness was so refreshing and liberating that Lance grinned against it. It wasn’t like his usual smiles, but it was genuine, if not a little off.

Then he grabbed a sponge and _scrubbed_. Lance scrubbed until his skin burned where the wriggling sensation once was; scrubbed until every inch of his body was _ clean _ and _ new. _

And if Lance had cried, nobody ever had a chance of hearing it; not over the swallowing roar of the pressured water hitting the ground. Never.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “When you've fallen in a forest and there's nobody around, do you ever really crash or even make a sound?”
> 
> Please forgive my screwed up layout of the castle, I haven’t put forth the time to actually re-watch the show and check where everything is, so I’m making it up as I go. It’ll stay consistent to what I make it though lmao,,,,  
also if you’re reading this (yes YOU!!) you fool! Leave a comment! Even just a quick one makes me smile and freak out and feel like it’s all worth it! Thank you if you’re reading this anyway though, you awesome person, ily!!!


	3. fentanyl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
I’m going to clarify that everyone cares about Lance and loves him a LOT. I’m not trying to imply that they all like secretly hate him or something, but they have no idea what he’s struggling with at all. Sometimes people write the paladins a bit too quick to immediately figure things out like THAT, but they're all only human. They know something’s up, they just don't know what.  
I’m only saying this so that people don’t kill me in this chapter with everyone’s else's dialogues and thoughts because since we know what’s up, their accusations are going to sound brutal as all hell and just very awful, and this situation is not uncommon for survivors  
It will all be rectified and such eventually, blah blah blah, but for now just don't sue me lmao

Lance was acting weird.

It was the only thing on his mind as his eyes stayed locked on the hallway where he'd fled from.

And it wasn't the type that Keith had been progressively growing accustomed to in his time living in the Castle, no, but a new..._strange, _type of weird.

Not that Keith was trying to pretend he knew Lance well (Keith would be the first to admit he didn’t at all), but it didn’t take a genius to see that he simply wasn’t himself.

It all started when he didn't show up at the Castle. Not that anyone really expected him to with his long history of tardiness, but it was decidedly a whole lot different being the last person ready for a mission drill than it was being ten minutes late, on a random planet, with no returned messages or calls.

Keith had opted out of searching for Lance when everyone was beginning to get antsy, still harboring a grudge from being dragged around the dumb mall for an hour. 

He knew that the guy was probably fine; he just seemed to have a constant desire to be the last one back to the Castle on _any_ given occasion. Keith scoffed offhandedly at that. Lance’s tendencies of being late were really very annoying at best, destructive at worst, and Keith thought that maybe Lance would do good from getting _actually _in trouble for once.

Besides, Keith reasoned that he just didn’t want to indulge in Lance’s bad, pointless dramatics. If he needed help, he had his phone and helmet to contact them, his bayard to defend himself, and it was a public trip full of civilians and eyewitnesses. Lance would be _fine._

At least Keith had _thought _he'd be fine, but he guessed that he hadn't factored in that this was _Lance_ they were talking about, and that meant that normal logic didn't normally apply, because of course it didn't.

Twenty more minutes passed, and still nothing from Lance or the team that they'd found him. At this point Keith's indifference was waning, and—even though he wouldn't admit it—was seconds away from joining everyone in searching, completely suited up and ready, when he came across Lance a few feet away from the Castle's entrance.

The state he’d been in was _not _good.

He had some pretty nasty bruises on his face, and was leaning against the wall in an uncomfortable way, like his shoulders were the only thing holding him up. His most eye-catching wound was a forming bruise around his neck. Keith's breath stilted when he realized it was hand-shaped. Someone had attempted to choke him.

By the looks of it Lance also hadn't noticed him yet, even though Keith was only a room's width distance away. He used the opportunity to eye him over.

Watching for a moment or two, Keith noticed that he seemed quietly distressed. Afraid. He was murmuring slowly to himself—although Keith couldn't catch any of the words—but he didn’t have his helmet on, so he couldn't have been communicating with anyone through the comms— 

Keith blinked. Wait.

Why didn’t Lance have his helmet?

Keith's concern hit a pique. It was safe to assume he'd ran into trouble and either lost, or _very_ narrowly won.

And then it hit him that Lance had returned _alone._

His heart beat faster.

_Where was everyone else?_

Lance's muttering had gotten louder, and in a burst of growing panic that he still hadn't even _noticed _him there across the room, and that he was alone, he echoed Lance loudly.

"What's all fine? What happened?" he asked with intent.

Instantly, Lance startled in a way that looked somehow painful, head shooting up towards him with big eyes. He looked even more scared now that their gazes were interlocked.

But he didn't say anything, and the team was still missing, and _he_ was freaking out now, so Keith filled the silence for Lance.

"Did you try and fight someone?" he urged, aiming to get Lance talking. Admittedly, his tone was a bit more biting than he might have meant it to be. And sure, _maybe_ was still sore at him about being dragged around for an hour; sue him.

Lance stalled, for a moment, like he had to process each of Keith's words separately.

“Yes, obviously! But you can see just about how well that went" he crowed, and Keith had to physically keep his face neutral because that sounded to pungently _off_.

He also sounded defensive.

He as trying to hide something from him.

"Yeah, I can," he said sharply, of which Lance had no reply to. He switched his tone from bitter to urging. "Do you know where everyone else is? They were all out there looking for you, and..."

"F-fine," he said shortly, but Keith latched onto it with relief anyway, "They're all fine. I passed them, they'll be.." he coughed, looking increasingly more uncomfortable which only served to make _Keith _uncomfortable, until—“....I’m going to my room. Tell the others that I’m gonna shower for me, would you?” he asked, trying to slip by.

Keith stared, taken aback.

He was crazy if he thought he could get past Keith without even _attempting _to explain the giant elephant in the room. Keith still had zero idea who'd attacked him, what happened, if he was okay, or even why he and everyone else was separated. He felt almost offended at the dismissal.

It just wasn't like him to avoid it and let it drop. They weren’t great friends, but they _ were _ teammates, and also Lance was _loud. _He talked _too _much, if anything.

Before Lance could move to actually leave, Keith stepped in front of him. Lance wasn’t going to tell him anything? Fine. Keith would _ask_.

Lance wasn't _allowed _to peace out after vaguely telling him that the team was 'fine'. 

“How’d you get that bruise,” he asked. Not the most elegant approach, but Lance clearly got the message well enough.

"Didn't realize that this was an interrogation," he near hissed, but broke the bitterness off suddenly and looked away.

He was visually getting more and more upset. Keith got it, _everyone _got it, Lance was dramatic, but crow, he was acting like Keith had accused him of murder.

Lance finally gave a little wheeze-laugh that made his shoulders do a small lift. "Gonna have to be more specific there, dude.” he said, relenting.

Keith wasn’t here for jokes. He wanted answers, and Lance still sounded wrong.

“Neck.”

And if Keith was to pinpoint it, that was when things went downhill.

Lance opened his mouth, as if to speak, but he swallowed it closed right after. His face twisted into something that was both familiar, and foreign. It was like fear, but a specific brand of fear that was...._personal_, to Keith. His shoulders rose and he crossed his arms over his chest, hunching.

Keith physically faltered, feeling as if he'd stepped over some line he'd never noticed before, and felt the urge to put his hands up in show of peace, to diffuse. It was like he was feeling everything involving his par of the situation come back to him at once.

He was being pushy, he didn't mean to make Lance upset—really, he didn't think making Lance actually upset was even _possible_. He definitely didn't mean to make him look...like that. It made him uncomfortable, and a bit unnerved, because that was an expression that Keith had seen before and a long time ago on many different people, but _ definitely _never on Lance.

“I-I,” he stuttered weakly, trying to find words. Hearing a stutter in Lance’s voice sounded alien.

“Actually, it's...ha, she uh, grabbed my, my neck. N’ lifted me off the ground and,” he breathed, “punched me,” his voice raised a couple of pitches near the end. It sounded a little bit more like a question than an explanation.

"Yeah, uh, that's how—" he coughed, his lips twitching up once more, "That's how _that _happened, uhm...I'm going to go shower now." he stuttered, face reddening in a show of awkwardness that washed Keith over.

Before he could say another word, Lance was gone, limping slightly but quickly down the halls.

Keith kinda just stood there for another second or two, stunned and not knowing what to do with himself. He wanted more answers, but he couldn't get himself to follow.

Lance told him that the team would be back soon, right after him, and he figured that they probably knew what happened, assuming Lance already told them he'd fought...

Fought a...

Something about their conversation suddenly _clicked._

Lance...he'd _specifically _used female pronouns when describing them. It hadn't struck Keith as weird at the moment, but thinking back to it now...

His entire body untensed as the pieces came together. It all made _so _much more sense.

Keith had been afraid, for a moment there, that something had seriously gone wrong, but it all fit together now:

A girl Lance had been flirting with had lashed back, and Lance, who'd been all too cocky and arrogant the entire time, had lost to her in a fight.

Keith released a breathy-snort. Obviously Lance would be embarrassed, probably even humiliated, but you know what? It served him right. Lance had bothered plenty of women in the mall that day, and probably countless others before they'd met. It had always been openly harmless and playful, sure, but Keith figured that it was probably good for him to get some sense knocked into him anyway; probably teach him a lesson on respecting women more.

Keith’s relief stilted slightly when the image of Lance’s face appeared in his head, but he quickly shoved it away. Lance was undeniably overdramatic, he was probably just embarrassed that his ‘rival’ knew about something he was trying to hide, something he was embarrassed about.

Probably.

No, no not probably, _definitely_. Shiro told Keith time and time again that he needed to stop fretting over small things. Something about how he could only hold so much worry in his head at once before it exploded. This was likely exactly what he was referring to.

He still felt uncertain. But...

If anything was _ seriously _wrong, Keith was sure Lance would talk to Hunk. Keith had no business sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, even when he still felt that something was— 

Suddenly, the Castle door was sliding open. Keith tilted his head up to see the team stepping through, all there and all unharmed. He knew they would be, but he felt better now that they were together again.

“Keith—! Keith, have you seen Lance? We saw him come in here, I think he got in a fight—” Hunk rushed, the first of the group in talking distance. 

All three of them had varying degrees of worry on their faces; Pidge looked sullen, Hunk frantic, and Shiro mostly just looked confused and possibly...hurt? That was alarming, and Keith quickly schooled himself a bit, leaning off the wall.

“Don't worry," he looked at Hunk, "I saw him. He told me that he’d be in the shower, though,” Keith filled in, letting his posture finally deflate at the pace. He’d been tense throughout the entire conversation with Lance.

Hunk relaxed too, but still looked pointedly concerned.

“Man, is he alright? He looked really hurt, and he was acting really, really weird—”

“I know right?!” Pidge whipped her head to him, gesturing her confusion with her arms.

“Yeah, he pushed straight past me. Seemed kinda jumpy too.” Shiro mentioned, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Keith, you saw him, did you guys talk? Did he say anything about what happened?” Hunk asked, expression set with serious intent. Keith shrugged mildly with his eyebrows knit together.

“Yeah, but I got about as much out of it as you did,” Keith considered not telling them the bit of information he’d learned, but decided against it anyway. These people were actually _ close _to Lance. They deserved to know far more than Keith did.

“But he did mention something about the person he’d fought being a girl,” he said plainly, “So I figured that he’s just embarrassed he got bested by one of the chicks he was flirting with.”

They all paused, faces going blank, and Shiro looked like he had something he wanted to say before Pidge suddenly burst out laughing.

“Oh my _ god_, that’s fucking hilarious, I’m gonna—” she held her side, chuckling loudly, leaning against Hunk for support, who in turn released a deep sigh.

“Yep, that sounds like Lance—and watch your tongue, Pidge,” Shiro remarked wistfully, but even he couldn’t hide the slight grin.

Hunk simply looked contented, although still a bit wary, before saying,

“Well, then I’m going to start preparing for dinner. If any of you see him first, tell Lance when he gets out that I’m going to try and use that weird tuber plant he picked out that smells like mint. Hopefully it'll make him feel better” he began making his way towards the kitchen before adding, “Oh, and don’t be hard on him about this. Lance is sensitive about these type of things!” he was specifically looking at Pidge, who was still wheezing a bit to herself, but he knew it applied to everyone. Shiro and Keith nodded.

“How are we _ not _supposed to tease him about this, it’s literally so funny,” Pidge insisted once Hunk was out of earshot. She pretended to wipe away a tear, “Think about the _leverage_.” she hollered as she walked away, presumably back to her room.

Keith smiled a bit, “Yeah. It kinda is,” he smirked, although the amusement at Lance’s expense still wasn’t as rich as it would be. It still felt off. Like Keith was missing something.

The deeper he looked into it, the more holes he found in the conversation. Like, for example, Lance had told Keith that he’d been choked. That added up fine, until you took into account the state of his voice. It was raspy and broken up, sounding raw and wheezy. Keith knew from unfortunate personal and stand-by experience that your voice _ was _ wrecked when struck or grabbed, but not in the way Lance’s had been. Lance’s speech was too airy and torn, closer to the effects of a sore throat during a cold.

They were effects that Keith also recognized could come from screaming. A lot.

Keith’s heart picked up. Had Lance been screaming? Why?

No, Keith was jumping to conclusions too fast. He was no medical expert. Maybe Lance had just been choked to such a degree that he was having trouble breathing? Keith doubted it though, it would sound more whistley then, right? Or— 

“Keith? Is something wrong?” Shiro prodded, startling Keith a little before looking up at the worried face of his pseudo brother, who he'd sorta forgotten was even there.

“No, I'm fine...Just thinking about Lance—and stuff,” he answered. Because it wasn’t like anything was actually wrong. Keith was just getting ahead of himself again, but he didn't need to burden Shiro with it. 

Shiro seemed to sense his unrest anyway. Or maybe he just knew him that well.

“Well, try not to worry too much about it. I’m sure Lance will feel better tomorrow, after some rest, and some patching up,” he mediated, before seeming to rethink his words.

“Unless you think something's wrong?” he added quickly. Shiro always had the scary ability to read Keith like an open book, despite the fact that he was very much a closed—if not bolted shut—one. He shook his head weakly.

“Nah. Just thinking.”

Shiro didn’t look entirely convinced, but he looked satisfied enough at how easy the answer came, so he didn’t press. He could tell when Keith was done talking, too.

“Alright,” he said, "But I think I'm still going to call a team meeting when Lance is out of the shower, just to clear everything up." he said simply, patting Keith’s shoulder affectionately as he too began walking away.

“As long as you’re sure. I trust you.” he said with a warm smile over his shoulder, before disappearing down the hall.

“I'm sure.” Keith said to nobody in particular. If he said it out loud, it would solidify it.

And he had to be sure. Lance was just a theatrical guy in general, and Keith should be enjoying this whole ordeal while it still lasted. Should be relishing in seeing his usually cocky and borderline narcissistic teammate get knocked down a notch or two, thinking about the possibilities of leverage that Pidge had mentioned.

So yes, he was sure that this would all blow over in a week, and then maybe that feeling of wrongness inside of him would go away. 

It would all be over in a week.

Keith was certain of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes. scream at me all you want, but alas, this is the way is must be.  
I love the support this has gotten so far, it makes me really happy to see every comment. Especially long ones, the long ones make my life. Ya'll don't think I see you, but I do, and I appreciate the hell out of you ;)  



	4. westboro sadness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last one was really short, so this one is almost three times as long. I really liked how it turned out, and I hope you guys do too. please read the endnotes, they're quick(ish) this time

Lance tossed a bath towel onto the floor and pushed it along with his foot, mopping up all the water that'd escaped during his shower.

The decision to finally leave said shower took him way longer than it probably should have, and even then it followed after several false starts. He'd turn off the water and then scramble to turn it back on just as quickly when he frigid air touched him. Like being in a hot tub when it's raining outside, only without laughing siblings to tease and yell after him. It was nothing short of pathetic.

He’d eventually came up with the innovative idea of grabbing his towel while still under the blast and wrapping it around him instantly after the shower was off. It got the towel a little damp, but whatever. Sacrifices must be made to feel less...less bad? He didn’t know if the feeling he was looking for had a label. Bad worked well enough though.

Also, to Lance’s severe disappointment and bitterness, the clean and fresh feeling he’d soaked up had only lasted as long as he stayed under the spray. Once outside he felt almost as slimy and gross and _sore_ as before. Fantastic. Just peachy perfect for him.

At the time Lance had been very close to going back in, but the hassle it would bring up wouldn't be worth it. At some point, somebody from the team would bust in and check that he hadn’t somehow drowned and died, and _d__ios _ that would be absolutely awful. Luckily, nobody had tried to break into the locker room during Lance’s—he checked his phone—nearly two-hour-long shower. Jeez, time goes fast when you're having fun. Or in his case just not being miserable and filthy and terrible and bad. _Ugh_.

He groaned lowly as he dabbed the wetness out of his hair with a hand-towel. Usually, he’d just towel wrap his head the way his sisters did so that it could dry naturally, but he didn’t plan on going out and about in a towel today. He would next time he showered though. Maybe.

Once he left the safety of the shower, Lance’s eyes immediately tracked to the pile of clothes he’d left on the floor, and he had to suppress the next wave of full-body shudders before immediately tossing them into the trash without so much as a parting glance. He could find a new favorite shirt. Maybe something yellow, or green this time. It was old anyway. It was fine.

Lance then tasked himself with getting himself dressed, and his face heated in embarrassment and anger at himself at how terrible and skin-prickly the process made him feel. If it was any consolation, he felt way better once he was fully clothed (it wasn't, it was _ridiculously _irrational).

He probably looked super emo with his baggy hoodie (he usually only wore it when he was cold, and since the castle regulated its temperature to a near-constant seventy degrees, it was never a problem), but he wouldn’t know because he didn’t look in the mirror. He _refused _to, and even if he did he would hardly be able to see himself anyway through the layer of fogginess that had been a side-effect of his unreasonably long shower. He readied himself, knowing fully well that he couldn’t hide from his team forever (even if he sort of wanted to), and took a nice, deep breath.

As he opened the door leading off into the hall, he could feel a wave of coldness hit him. In reality, the air probably wasn’t that cool, but in comparison to the bathroom-turned-sauna he’d been stewing in, the temperature of the air was palpable and bone cold(even through his hoodie).

The change made his stomach flip and his body freeze up. He felt an inexplicably strong urge to turn back, turn back, leave and shut the door and go far, far away—

“Lance?”

And holy _crow_ did that scare the entire living daylights out of him. Before he could re-immerse himself into the confinements of the locker room, Shiro waved his arms in an idle show of peace. It made the feeling of cold dread die away, but did nothing to Lance’s insane off the charts pulse. It was easy enough to hide anyway, so it was fine.

“God, Shiro, where the quiznack did you come from?” he asked honestly, voice a tad squeaker than normal. And where _ had _ he come from? Lance had literally been facing out the door, and he hadn’t noticed his presence until he'd spoken. 

“Uh, down the hall? What do you mean?” Shiro answered with a slight lowering of his eyebrows.

So, he hadn’t used his elusive ninja Shiro abilities to sneak up next to him for the purpose of, well, freaking Lance out? Weird. What was weirder was that Lance truly hadn’t seen him coming. This either meant Lance had been zoning out hard enough to not even see someone coming (a scary thought that Lance needed to keep tabs on), or Shiro was just accidentally really quiet and stealthy. The former of the two easily seemed more plausible, and Lance didn’t like the implications of what that meant. His reflexes had always been pretty quick, at least quick enough, so did that mean that—

“...Lance, are you feeling alright? You're looking a little out of it,” he asked, squinting a little in concern.

“Oh, uh, yep! Yeah, I'm _great_.” was it possible to mentally face-palm? Face-slap? Face-punch? Lance was doing all of the above.

Shiro looked rightfully unconvinced, placing a hand on his shoulder that forced Lance to physically hold himself still as to not react.

Not noticing the restraint, Shiro sighed.

“Listen, Lance....if anything happened out there, know that you can trust us," he tightened his hold, misinterpreting Lance not meeting his eyes as disbelief, and Lance's arm twitched back, "_All_, of us. We're a team on more than just the battlefield, okay?” the leader remarked genuinely, looking down at Lance (looking _ down at Lance_) and finally releasing his shoulder. Lance shivered, but covered it with a brief nod.

He didn't doubt the sincerity to the statement, Shiro had a weird ability to make anything he said sound inspirational. He appreciated the sentiment, he really did. He didn't need it though. Everything was okay. Well, alright, that wasn’t entirely true, but it _ would _ be in a few days. Everything would smooth itself over if he had a few days where he could, uh....figure it all out. 

“Yeah, read you loud and clear, captain.” he smiled lightly back, keeping his joking tone to a minimum to show that he was being serious.

Shiro considered him for a moment, still clearly having more to say. He shifted his weight.

“Either way,” he continued, dropping his arms and putting on his ‘serious-business-black-paladin’ face, “I think that it’s a good—or, well, it certainly wouldn't _hurt _for us to talk about your side of what happened when you were gone, as a team, and get any...._misunderstandings_, out of the way. Is that alright?”

Lance's chest tightened at the idea of what Shiro was saying, although he wasn't precisely sure why.

He didn't _want _to, of course not, but he figured he'd seem way more suspicious if he didn't allow it, and Shiro was asking in the way of someone who was only _asking_ out of politeness. Lance assumed he already had everyone in the other room waiting on him, and it'd be more than rude to refuse.

“Uhhh, I mean I guess?" Lance fumbled, "...Can I ask why, though? It really wasn't a big deal, really.” he asked in a final reaching attempt to persuade Shiro out of it.

The question was an earnest one. Well, the not knowing what they knew was earnest, anyway. Even if _ he _ knew that what _ they _ knew couldn't be what _ Lance _ knew (haha), they still must know that _ something _was off to want to talk to him. They only had group meetings unrelated to tactics and Voltron when it was something important.

Plus, it would be easier to weave a believable web of lies (he was already pretty bad at blatant lying as is, but the fact that his story was probably the very last thing on the team’s mind helped) if he knew _ what _ he would be lying about in advance.

Shiro, however, did not budge in his resolve.

“Well, I guess it’s more of the uh, _ specifics_, of it. The team has been speculating, but I don’t think it’s fair for us to outright assume based on one piece of information.” Well, that sounded oddly cryptic. What ‘information’ had been possibly given out? He’d talked to them all for a collective five minutes! Lance had been.....out of it, but he remembered enough to know he wasn’t _ that _ out of it.

His stomach stirred at the thought that he would have to be relaying an experience, even if it was a fake one. If he wanted to seem as nonchalant as he sounded right now, he was going to have to lie about basically everything. That was okay, though. As long as nobody ever had to know, nobody ever even speculated, all lies were justified in Lance's conscience.

“Sure then, it's all cool with me,” he said, and was happy that it sounded authentic and true.

Shiro noticed this as well, and smiled encouragingly.

“Great. And is it alright if we just get it over with now? The team’s in the lounge," he'd totally called it, "and I think it’s best to do it while there aren’t any distractions,” Lance knew he meant the missions, and the general threat of them being in an intergalactic war “Okay?”

Even still, Lance itched to say no. He wanted to wait until he could mentally sort out a believable story that wouldn’t make him sound suspicious, but his previous points were still sound, (as annoying as ever), and Shiro was probably the most likely to piece together what had happened.

Hunk was great, duh. His best friend was kind, reliable, a pretty fantastic listener, and very capable of reading Lance and telling when something was up; however, there was no way that he would be able to guess it on a whim, and Lance could probably get him to back off if things got tight. 

Pidge was smart, double duh, but he doubted that she knew him well enough to be able to even tell that something was seriously up, and Keith—well, at least he knew there was one person who Lance didn’t have to worry about. Keith didn’t even give enough craps about him to think twice about their encounter (even if it had been out of the ordinary for them), so he at least didn’t have to worry about that stupid mullety brain of his.

Allura and Coran, as caring and great as they are, were even less likely to figure anything out than Keith was. Their lack of knowledge on earth culture solidified this, making Lance certain that they likely hadn’t even entertained the idea that something might be wrong.

Shiro was the one he’d have to keep his eye out closest for. He was not only good at reading people in general, but he was also already sketchy about the situation. Lance was going to need to be very cautious about what he lied about.

“Oh, sure. Not like I had anything else better to do.” he said with a shrug. Shiro nodded, and motioned towards the room where everyone else was presumably waiting. Lance followed suit after stalling a second to get more than a few feet of distance between him and Shiro. 

The moment after Lance entered the room and met the faces of his teammates, he didn’t see what he thought he would

He expected them to look serious, maybe even concerned. He was prepared for it, and ready to use the contrast of his cheer (that still wasn’t entirely up-to-co) to reassure them that their worry was misplaced. Then they could leave him alone for a while, and he’d come back in a few days and the lies he’d told them wouldn’t be lies anymore, because he’d be fine by then.

It was a minor punch to the gut to see he'd been wrong.

Pidge seemed snidely happy, practically straight up _gleeful, _and Keith—who was sitting directly next to her on the arm of the couch—looked almost smug. Nobody else looked nearly as self-satisfied as them, but they didn’t look upset either. And alright, call him attention-seeking....but it kinda stung, just a little. It made him feel oddly self-conscious, like he was a frog being visually dissected by them.

Lance’s skin felt strange and tingly again, and he crossed his arms to still it. It only half-worked, and his pulse was still going super fast. It felt like his hands were throbbing.

The silence, which had only stretched on for a few seconds but he really hated it already and wanted to leave and deal with everything later—was broken by Shiro as he cleared his throat.

“Alright, we’re going to make this quick so that everyone can go back to doing their own thing, but I thought that it would be a good idea to get this out of the way, as there seems to be,” he stared accusingly at the Red and Green paladins who were still smirking on the couch, “speculations and rumors that we should address,” he looked to him now—who was getting nervous—and Lance knew that it was his cue to start. 

Lance usually thrived under people watching, especially when he had his audience's undivided attention, but it was really going against him now. Their eyes were all he could see, all he could notice as they bore into him; judging and unbelieving. They knew, they knew they knew _ they knew_—

“Uh. Well, frankly I’m not really sure why we had to have a meeting, but if you all _ insist_,” he jived with a cocky smirk that was completely the opposite of how he felt on the inside.

‘Just keep to a lie, sound confident and light, and it all will go smoothly,’ Lance thought harshly at himself through his trademark smile, ‘And don’t think about it. It’s a story, completely made up. Nothing behind it, and no meaning to it. Just a harmless little lie’.

Lance squared his shoulders, summoned all the confidence he could (fake it till you make it), and started up his recount of what had definitely happened.

“It all started when Hunk and Keith abandoned me because they decided to be boring instead of _actually _having fun,” he said pointedly with crossed arms, hoping that they would feel even a scrap of guilt or remorse (a quick look at Keith showed that he clearly had none, and Hunk just look interested to hear what he was saying).

“When I was jumped by some shady dudes in one of the stores. Seemed like they thought I'd have good amounts of GAC on me, and that I wouldn't put up a fight—but of course, they'd thought wrong. Thugs didn't even know what hit them, and they were served a side of justice—Blue Paladin style!" he said with a small punching motion.

Really, Lance thought that he hadn't done that bad, all things considered, but one look at everyone in the room's face told him he he'd been wrong because none of them looked reassured at all.

"Uhhh....what's wrong?" he asked, lowering his hands, tucking them back in, trying to stop his stupid, stupid quivering before they noticed.

Pidge leaned forward.

"What store was it?" she asked, grinning.

Crap.

"Didn't catch it," he said, but lost all remaining confidence when Pidge's smile grew more cocky.

"Why don't you tell us about the part where you get decked by a girl, then?"

Lance's entire breath hitched.

……_what_—?

“Don’t try and lie Lance. We _ all _know what happened. Just spit it out and swallow your goddamn pride—”

“Pidge!” Shiro interrupted, seeming very angry, or something. Lance couldn’t really tell because his heart had stopped and he wasn’t sure he was breathing. He felt like someone had put on the breaks when he was driving at top speed, like his tires had some to a complete, screeching stop.

“That is out of line, Pidge! The whole point of this is to make sure—”

“There’s no point in hearing his spout bullshit if all we need to know is one part! Did the chick you were flirting with attack you or not?” she asked sharply towards Lance, but he was too busy existing on another plane of reality to answer right now, sorry, please leave a message at the beep.

Lance came back abruptly what felt like too many moments later, and he knew that there was no way he could answer that question anymore. He’d lost his voice, and he would never be able to find it without giving something important away. He was going to throw up, or have a seizure, or cry, or just combustively die on the spot. He knew something bad was going to happen; it was like he was watching a trainwreck in slow motion.

He felt breathing behind his neck and a dangerous, looming pressure on his back, but he didn't have the will to move and knew distantly that it wouldn’t help. 

“Lance? Lance, what's wrong?” Hunk’s voice, a usually extremely calming anchor, didn’t make a dent in the chaos that was taking place in his head. They really did know, of them and...and...

‘_How_?’

He asked himself weakly,

‘_How did they know?’ _

Lance was positively _sure _that there was no way for them to know anything that on point, that _ close_. Had someone called them? Did someone from the store who had seen and done _ nothing _ step up? Was there somebody out there that knew his secret, someone that had _ told_?

Lance felt his entire world collapse around him piece by piece. He wasn’t even sure how he was still conscious, let alone standing.

What was he going to do? What did this mean? They didn’t even seem the least bit unsettled or worried when Lance had entered, apparently knowing _ everything_—

Lance was drowning. Had-Had their friendships even been real? Or just idealized obligation between team members? Even Hunk hadn’t seemed upset, hadn't cared—

No, wait, that didn't make _sense._

No, there was _ no _way that Hunk didn’t care about him. They had grown up together, seen each other through their bests and worsts, helped each other grow and learn and study and adapt. 

No, Lance knew Hunk too well. He couldn’t ever be so nonchalant about something that was as disgusting as Lance was. Hunk would react, he would care, even if it wasn't something Lance ever wanted to happen, and even if it was only pity.

If Hunk knew, _ really _ knew, this would not be his reaction. Lance refused to consider it. He couldn’t say so about the others with near as much confidence, but they cared for him as well.

Which meant that they didn’t know. At least, they didn’t _ know_.

Lance let out a terribly heavy sigh. 

It was okay, he was okay, it was all fine, he had just grievously overreacted.

He relaxed his shoulders and tried to smile, only to see that it wouldn’t be happening, and it also wouldn’t be helpful right now. 

Everyone’s eyes were on him, and this time, none of them seemed happy. Hunk and most everyone in the room looked worried, except for Keith and Pidge. Pidge looked exasperated, and a little frustrated, but still had a sharpness to her glance that Lance shrunk under. Keith, on the entirely other hand, looked like he was in thought. Not concerned, just, thinking. His brows were furrowed, but he was looking at the floor; not at Lance himself.

It was better than the alternative.

One less pair of eyes watching him, observing him, _ penetrating h_— 

_ Dios_, Lance had overreacted. He'd overreacted _so _badly.

Hell, he was still in the process of overreacting.

How _dumb _of him.

“....Are you alright Lance? You were not answering us for a moment. You seem distressed,” Allura questioned lightly, being the first to speak up from the group. Lance blinked.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just lost my train of thought for a second,” Ack, that was no good. He needed to sound angry at Pidge for saying that, but Lance frankly had no clue how to approach the situation from where he’d left it off at. He’d kinda, _royally _screwed himself over.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” Pidge droned to break the silence. She had enough sense-of-self to look away when their eyes met for a brief moment. 

“And he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to,” Shiro affirmed, but still looked unsure as he watched Lance warily.

Lance couldn’t be sure what his reaction had been or how long he’d neglected to answer Pidge, but it wasn’t the worst. They looked concerned now, but not deeply so. Just a little knocked. It was recoverable, Lance decided.

And, referring to Shiro’s silent lifeline he’d thrown Lance, he knew he couldn’t actually accept it. He had to get this all over with, but the process had already derailed itself, and Lance didn’t know exactly where to go now. He supposed the best option was treading lightly to see what they knew and what they thought they knew.

“Where'd you even _get_ that from?” he asked shortly.

“Keith told me,” was all the youngest paladin offered, and Lance’s head involuntarily jerked over to Keith, who also seemed to perk up at the use of his name,

“Huh?” he squawked, 

“What are we—”

“Ugh, it doesn’t matter!” Pidge blurted, throwing her hands into the air,

“I’ll spell it out for you one more time,” she hissed, “Did you get beat up by a girl?” Pidge pronounced each individual word with an aggravated hiss,

Lance untensed just a little bit at the realization. Thank _ god_, that was really all they knew then. Jeez, he really had blown the situation out of proportion; luckily, his internal struggles clearly didn’t reflect in his physical reactions. This was fine, this was recoverable, but what _ now_?

It was a fair assumption that they knew for a fact (somehow) that his, _ attacker,_ was a woman. How they had this information was beyond Lance, but he thought that there was a good chance that the flirting part was a reach. It made sense. That was why Shiro had this stupid meeting, to clarify the situation they’d assumed via grasping at straws. It was also why Pidge and Keith seemed like they had been laughing.

Now Lance had a choice.

He could either deny it and try and steer it a different direction (yes. yes _ please_) or he could go with the excuse they’d already handed him—one that they already believed to be true—and deal with the consequences.

Lance knew what he _ wanted_, but what he wanted didn’t matter if he got caught. He would do _ anything _ to make sure that he never got caught.

“I-I mean, I wouldn’t put it like that—” he stammered out finally. Not a lie even, but it was all they needed.

“There it is!” Pidge affirmed sourly, clapping once. Shiro was shooting her glares of sharp disapproval, but it clearly didn’t do anything. Lance could feel his face heating, for multiple reasons. His arms crossed over his chest as his body shook like a leaf (but nobody seemed to notice).

“Jesus, was that really so hard?” she mumbled, crossing her arms and having the nerve to stare Lance down like _ he _was in the wrong (maybe he was),

“It’s okay Lance, you don’t have to be embarrassed—” Hunk tried, really looking apologetic, before Pidge piped in once again,

“Like hell he does! Finally getting a taste of his own medicine—”

“Katie!” Shiro borderline shouted, finally reaching the end of his rope.

Pidge herself looked taken aback, huffing in response as she fell back into herself. Her eyes were downcast, but she still had a deficiency and anger in her expression.

“You’re being very insensitive and disrespectful, and it is _ not _ how we act towards teammates!” he stated firmly, leaving no room for negotiation.

Meanwhile, Lance kinda wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground and die.

“Apologize, Pidge,” he commanded sternly at the youngest paladin.

She groaned; the cover picture of an angsty teen as she grumbled lowly, but not hugely unkindly.

“M’ Sorry Lance,”

Normally Lance would have been able to hear the sincerity in her apology, maybe even tease her about it, but right now he was feeling oddly detached.

Lance could hardly complain at all about the turn of events. They were infinitely more likely to believe this version of the story since they came up with it on their own. They would never find out with the way they took the information they’d gotten, but—

But it still made Lance feel sick. 

Pidge hadn’t laughed with him (she couldn’t be, since he wasn’t laughing).

She had laughed _at him_. 

Laughed at his complete and utter failure in every single aspect of what had happened.

Laughed that Lance had lost to a girl.

He had lost to a girl.

He had _failed_.

That over everything stung worse than every wound and injury he’d accumulated, every jab of pain that shot up his spine when he walked, and the sharp cuts that adorned the inside of his mouth.

And, amongst this feeling of betrayal, this pain, he felt _ anger_. It was tempting and baiting, turning his constant tremble into shudders of fury. 

Lance had seen Pidge’s body as she’d jeered at him, he saw her mouth upturn, her body lapse, and he wanted her to _ hurt_. 

It would be _ nothing _ compared to what Lance was feeling, what he'd _felt_, and Lance wanted her to _ know _that.

So Lance said nothing in light of the apology, only tilting his head away slightly.

Another awkward second of silence passed, and Lance’s heartbeat picked up and be seriously felt like he’d start crying any second now. He needed to leave, the silence was bad and he _ needed _ to get the hell out of that room before, before— 

“Alright Lance. You...you can go back to your room now. Just make sure to use a med kit to patch yourself up,” Shiro said carefully, and Lance felt familiar shame hit him strongly. He sounded confused and disappointed and Lance didn’t want to see his leaders face that surely reflected these things. He took the offer this time though. Lance had said enough, and now he wanted to go.

He left without as much as a second glance to his other teammates; so much for keeping up appearances. 

Whatever, he could deal with it all later once he had a moment to himself to figure out what he was going to do about all of this.

After entering his room, Lance allowed himself to take in full breaths as he tried to get his body to stop shaking so hard. 

He didn’t cry—he wasn’t quite to that point yet—but his breaths came out choppy and quick, and his throat had closed. A part of him _ wanted _ to let it all out for the relief and release it offered, but that would make him even more frail and helpless. Not that he thought that people who cried were any of those things in general (crying isn’t anything to be ashamed of, mind you), but Lance had _ nothing _to be upset over. He’d overreacted during the meeting, and nobody had even been outwardly mean to him, except for maybe Pidge, and— 

And the things—

Lance gasped a little and put a hand over his mouth.

He’d thought and wished terrible, terrible things on Pidge in his random, unexplainable rage. He hadn’t even accepted her apology.

Lance hugged his knees (despite the pain) and tucked his head between them. Why was he being so mean to people who were only trying to help him about something that wasn’t even a big deal in the first place? Why had he even been angry anyway?

Pidge’s laughter and Keith’s amusement were fairly placed; even Lance could admit that. From an outsider's perspective, the story they’d thought up might even be entertaining. It wasn’t to Lance, not even a little bit, but he could understand. They didn’t know how much this was bothering him (and, with luck, they never would). It didn’t make Lance feel any less sour about it though, but now that he was looking at his thoughts, he could realize they were wrong.

No matter how angry he got at his friends, it was never okay to think badness on them. What would his _papá_ think? His _mamá_? Lance needed to take a step back from these issues so that he could solve them.

Whenever he got this heated about small stuff, it always helped him to look back and figure out what was making him so upset. Usually, as his _mamá_ would tell him, it was part of a bigger problem. Lance recognized this and he _ tried _to do just that, but he’d hit a roadblock.

He couldn’t. He...his head—

Every time he’d tried it resulted in images and immense, incredible shame. Images and feelings and phantom touches and pain that made him whimper and jolt and not be able to suck in a breath—it was a terrible.

Lance had no idea why this was all making him so weak and pitiful, but he both physically and mentally couldn’t think about the event, or even much leading up to it. It brought up shame and fear and hurt all at once, but it wasn’t like his normal bad memories.

Like everyone else, Lance had his own bout of things that were painful to remember. The death of his grandma and uncle, times he’d been bullied for being different and not English-speaking after he’d moved from Cuba, being constantly compared to Keith at the Garrison; exedra. And even now, here in space, looking back on happy memories with him and his family brought forth a near unbearable ache of home-sickness. Hurt was part of living, and Lance dealt with it the best he could in stride.

This was different.

Looking back on the event—or rather trying to—brought him _ back_. It was like he was actually, _ really _ there and it made Lance _ terrified_. He'd upset himself each time until he forgot where he was.

And Lance wasn’t stupid. He knew what these things meant, knew what this was all pointing at. But it was stupid, and completely unacceptable and totally him accentuating the problem tenfold. 

Something did happen. Lance could admit that to himself but it’s—it was nothing horrendous. Nothing that couldn’t be fixed if Lance just stopped thinking about and letting it taunt him like this. The key was to make sure that he didn’t let it get to him, to make himself bigger and stronger than whatever was bothering him.

And that’s exactly what Lance was going to do.

He was going to fix this.

All on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys I swear I love pidge and she's a total badass and smart and adorable, im just being mean to her :(  
this story takes place in a very indefinite season and timeframe, but it's around the time Pidge is still looking for her brother. real hard stuff. she's emotional and bad at people and I love my angry smol girl but she's using Lance here as an outlet for her anger and frustrations. also she'll regret it later, so just don't @ me pls  
ALSO! Please comment! The feedback I've gotten I appreciate so much! Some of you guys are so nice and amazing (you know who you are) and your comments literally are the best things ever for me. consider leaving down below what you think (the more details the more fuzzy and happy and motivated they make me feel)  
see you losers on the flipside (ily all)  



	5. great

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a doozey! tw for overworking/burnout

Lance took a moment to wipe away beads of sweat from his forehead, panting, but still kept himself from holding his sides. This was really nothing, so far. Lance was only getting started, and he wouldn’t be dealing with this in the first place if he had just taken some time out of his day to get off his butt and do some lifting and jogging before. It wasn't like he didn't have free time—he had _plenty _of it—but up until now he'd chosen to exclusively spend it playing video games, bothering his teammates, and swimming, on occasion. The only practice he indulged in was refining his shot in the Castle's indoor gun range, but laying down for an hour wasn't quite the cardio boost he was aiming for.

For the past week or so, Lance had dedicated himself to trying to get into hitting the castle’s very small gym as often and as much as possible between the missions and team training.

His workouts with the team were anything but easy—Lance would enthusiastically be the first to admit that—but they weren’t as often or strenuous as they could be (something Lance had been glad about before). Moreover, they usually never focused on one thing at a time for that long, constantly switching from tactic to tactic, preventing them from refining skills in specific areas. It was a strategy that made perfect sense in a team mentality, covering as much ground as possible and getting each of them acquainted with the barest bones of everything, but Lance wanted more than that. 

He wanted to be able to actually have a chance without his bayard on the offensive, to be less reliant on his resources and teammates. Be less of a nuisance.

His dependence on the team and his Lion was becoming more and more prominent, and even as his sniping was getting to be more and more awesome, he was severely lacking on all other fronts. Like, _drastically _so.

This wasn’t the first time he’d envied Shiro and Keith’s fighting abilities, wanting desperately to be able to do what they could on the battlefield. Never before had Lance had the motivation or passion to start actually getting serious, though. It also felt...kinda pointless. Like he was already _leagues_ behind everyone already, and putting himself through the grind would be a waste if he was stuck being himself surrounded by a team of prodigies and geniuses.

His opinions and resolve on this subject, however, had abruptly changed. Lance finally had the drive and desire to actually put forth his own effort into getting stronger, and it was thrilling and draining at the same time. Lance was only just beginning his journey into becoming stronger, and it was already so, so hard. 

Lance had worked himself into shape before, (his swim team back in highschool hadn't made it to regionals for nothing) and so he had the basic idea down of which exercises would strengthen which muscles, but that had been for a lithe body built for cutting through water and strong strokes.

He was fighting on the good guys side in a war, now. He wanted to throw punches that would _sting_.

It meant working harder, lifting more, and running faster than he'd ever been used to. And it _hurt._

Every trip to the gym left him feeling absolutely beat, and if Lance had any better alternative, he would take it. But he really didn't.

His first thought when he was just starting had been to dish it out in the training room, because it was a more involved and less tedious way to exercise. He thought it might even be fun!

A single session in, and Lance decided that he'd thought wrong.

Lance admired Keith for being able to work so feverishly in the simulator room against the training bots (what level was he on at this point? Eight? Nine?), but fighting his problems out didn’t end up working out as well for Lance. He’d lost too many times to the simulator on his first go, and the moment or two of feeling trapped right after having lost and pinned was enough to bring him to core exercise. 

It was for the better anyway; he had a build for natural speed, granting him the ability to be quick in hand to hand, but that gave him nothing when his blows were weak.

So yeah, hence his time in the weight room, and the burning that traveled through every aching muscle in his body. Hooray!

His teammates seemed fine with it, if they’d even noticed at all. They were growing noticeably more....distant, from Lance, but he couldn’t say that he entirely hated the change. It kept them off his back, his trail, and they weren’t bothering him as much anymore. Keith hadn’t bothered talking to him, Pidge still seemed to have some weird grudge, and he was avoiding Shiro. Hunk had tried on multiple occasions to ask if something was wrong, but Lance brushed him off every time. His voiced worries were getting less frequent, but his lingering looks weren’t.

Whatever, Lance was sure even those would go away eventually. In fact, he was determined to see them off himself.

Lance thought that even if they did get all up in his business, they couldn’t really get on him about his sudden enthusiasm for practice. It only backed up his motivation knowing that it wasn’t like he wasn’t doing anything incriminating. Working out was never a bad thing; in fact, Lance was rather proud of himself for channeling his, _ less than positive_, energy, into something this productive (even when it didn’t help as much as he’d hoped it would). It was still a distraction nonetheless, and it helped. Even if it was only by a little.

He still felt guilty about it, though. Like he was toeing on the line between right and wrong.

He didn't know why, so he ignored it, and focused on getting better.

The satisfaction and physical progress that showed through his sore limbs and developing muscles also contributed to the joy he got from it all. It also did wonders on covering up the older, less desirable injuries he’d sustained.

All in all, this was a fantastic idea! And Lance was doing great.

Better, he was doing better.

Mostly.

There was still that feeling that he got when they were doing group training. Hand to hand combat practice was the worst, and Lance was very grateful that the noises of his other teammates sparring had blocked out his small shriek whenever Shiro touched him. His small winces when they were near.

Lance _ hated _ sparring with Shiro now, which had only bolstered his mission of avoiding him at every chance he got.

Honestly, practicing hand to hand with Shiro had never been the best in the first place. It definitely wasn’t an ego booster, knowing your opponent was going easy on you and you were _ still _getting destroyed, but it was even worse now.

It was stupid and embarrassing that he reacted the way that he did, that he never even tried to deal with it, but each and every interaction was very difficult and strenuous. It put him on a constant edge that he couldn’t knock, and he hoped that it wasn’t as obvious as it felt. 

He knew that Shiro would never actually hurt him, but his stupid brain didn’t seem to get the memo. Bells rang in his head when Shiro was too close, and they turned into full-on alarms when Shiro fought with him. Every movement and strike felt malicious, and he often caught himself subconsciously keeping his wrists far from reach.

Lance can remember clearly there being one particular training session where things had really gone south.

The practice had been going as fine as it ever did. A jolt when he was struck near his neck here an embarrassing yelp after he was thrown back there, and ope—Pidge had nicked him in the cheek with her fist and now he had to get himself to stop shaking before somebody noticed. It was manageable, and that was what mattered. Nobody noticed. It was fine.

It was fine until Shiro had Lance pinned underneath him after having flipped him.

Then it certainly was not fine.

The second Lance realized that he couldn't struggle free, his spine went stiff as a rod, voice stilted, as he barely was able to voice through his immobilizing fear and tight throat a wheezy yet insistent plea of “_Get off_.”

Shiro had, looking nothing but apologetic and confused as he offered his hand to help him up. Lance didn’t take it, feeling incredible embarrassment as blood rushed to his face. He pretended not to notice the stares he was getting. He couldn’t look Shiro in the face for the rest of the day, and couldn’t stop his constant quivering. He'd felt the phantom weight pressing in on him worse, that night.

And his problems didn’t stop at training either.

Being on his own to stew in his thoughts was also a no go. The intensity of the memories was only getting worse the more he ran from them, but he couldn’t for the life of his find an alternative. Exercising acted as a temporary outlet, but once he was done with that everything flooded back all at once in such a way it was nearly suffocating. Showers stalled this even more—a temporary safe haven of warmth of cleanness—but all good things always had to come to an end, and then he was back to being alone with his thoughts. 

And then there was sleeping.

Sleeping was the _ worst_.

Lance never had many nightmares. He was more of the nightmare comforter of the group, and by the group, he meant almost exclusively Hunk.

Hunk had always been prone to having terribly bad dreams; something Lance had known in their childhood, but understood when they roomed in the Garrison. He didn't mention them as often anymore now that they were in space, but they still happened and Lance would always be there for him to help whenever Hunk asked for it. 

There were also the very rare times when Pidge would silently enter Lance’s room at some ungodly hour and crawl into his bed beside him, her small form slinging to him tightly. Lance knew better than to blab about these nights to anyone (Pidge was scary) but he could tell that she had her own fair share of issues she was dealing with. Lance didn’t judge or push her. He just elected to always be a listening ear and comforting presence when she needed it.

Lance himself however? Getting a nightmare? Practically unheard of. And even if he did have one, he always had Hunk, who he knew was more than happy to stay up and talk until Lance’s fears subsided, because he was a legend of a best friend.

But again, like everything else, that was before, and this was now and now sucks ass (pardon his language).

His head couldn’t touch a pillow without drifting off (he was so tired all the time now) and when unconsciousness hit him, so did the nightmares. More often than he would relive everything again under an even more twisted light, waking with no comfort that it had just been a dream. His body would be shaking so bad that he couldn’t feel his legs and his bed would be soaked with sweat and sometimes—as completely mortifying as it was—urine.

He couldn’t even go to Hunk anymore, because then he would have to talk and Lance couldn’t do that he couldn’t—

Basically, it was much easier not to sleep. Easier to go back to the weight room at night when everybody else was dreaming so he could sweat his fears away. It also gave him time to wash his bedsheets.

Lance was pathetic. He knew he was.

But he was working through it.

He started up the Altean space-treadmill again, steeling himself for another hour.

It would never happen again, since Lance was going to get strong and then nobody would ever, _ could _ever touch him again.

Then, and only then, Lance would be okay.

The gears on the machine whirred to life almost immediately as the ground started moving, forcing Lance's pulse back up again as he ran.

Altean treadmills, Lance had learned, were not your ordinary treadmills. They weren’t even called treadmills! They were called some other Alteany name that Lance couldn’t remember (much less pronounce) but whatever. Same general, running in place concept.

Secondly, they were longer, and kinda wider! Which was weird, but Lance hardly minded.

Lastly, and most importantly, they had built-in simulation technology that gave the ground texture rocky surfaces and—Lance favorite part—the simulator also worked for creating artificial obstacles. They weren’t physical like the ground was, but the screen at the front could evaluate how good he was at avoiding them. It sorta reminded him of the Garrison, and gave off fancy virtual game vibes, which only helped Lance plow through it. 

As Lance ran, he saw the first of his fake hurdles—which took form as a large rock—as it morphed into existence. Lance jumped it easily, and had no time for rest as the next object appeared, a metal bar overhang that he would have to duck. 

He’d adjusted the level to the treadmill pretty high, so there was a new obstacle about every three seconds. Nothing impossible, but it would for sure keep him on his toes. Get his reflexes back up to standards. Hopefully.

In only a few minutes, Lance was back into a comfortable and invigorating flow of leaping and skidding and dodging. Pleasant, friendly adrenaline coursed through him as he bounded through the virtual threats. He felt free and quick and unbeatable against the safe risk-freeness of the simulation, forgetting his soreness and worries and pains. It felt amazingly liberating, and Lance wished that it could last forever.

“Number three!” 

Lance seemed to trip over his own feet mid-jump, only barely managing to catch himself from face-planting. Lance knew that voice and nickname anywhere, and this instinctive knowledge was the only thing preventing him from whipping his head around towards the disturbance.

In response to Lance’s change of mindset, or pulse or, _ brain chemicals _ or whatever weird alien technology the space treadmill was connected to, the machine began automatically slowing itself down—the screen flashing Lance’s score statistics. It was better than last time, but that wasn't what held Lance’s immediate focus.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, my boy.” Coran apologized, tilting his head slightly and giving Lance a quick and kind smile. Lance didn’t return it, feeling his previous mirth slowly drain.

“No problem,” Lance said curtly, keeping his voice even as he wiped his sweat away again.

Coran merely stared at him for a moment (it was always that stupid, _ stupid _ silence all the time now—) when he pointed his index finger into the air,

“You’ve been at this for quite a while! A good three varga, if I’m not mistaken,” he looked down briefly at his tick stopwatch thing he always had with him for some reason, “I didn’t take you as the type to even partake in such things!” 

Lance had never minded Coran for his natural peppiness before—admired it even—but right now it was just making him irritated.

“Things change,” he bit back, itching to have Coran get to his point so that Lance could get back on track.

“....Yes, I suppose,” the elder said, nodding off a bit. His eyes were squinted ever so slightly, and Lance took it as an accusation. He had nothing to prove to the Princess’s advisor, or anybody. He just wanted to be left alone.

The quiet chipped away at Lance, making his trembling start up again, and—from habit now—Lance channeled it by clenching his hands to fists.

“Blue paladin, I must admit that I am a bit concerned at your sudden...motivation, for such a topic,” he pronounced, looking very careful with his words, “I can’t help but feel that something is troubling you”

Lance had to forcibly keep himself from scoffing. He knew it would be something like this, something stupid.

“Nope. I’m fine,” he affirmed quickly and firmly, hoping that Coran would take it and leave. Of course though, he had no such luck.

“Your actions say otherwise, lad. The Castle logs tells me that this isn't the first time you have participated in such strenuous training this week,” he accentuated, refusing to back down. Lance felt his own anger strike a peak.

“Everyone gets on me for being lazy and clumsy, and now that I’m actually listening to them, it’s _ my _ fault? Something to be _ worried _ about?” he hissed furiously, only a pitch or two away from a shout. He refrained from adding the last part, but Lance could tell from Coran’s small recoil that he’d heard it. ‘_Are everyone's standards for me really that low?_’

The advisor’s brows furrowed, and he crossed his arms.

“While I agree that a little extra training to refine skills can be very helpful, I don’t believe that the extent you’ve been putting forward is well, _ healthy_, number three,” Coran held his ground, refusing to budge from Lance’s small outburst.

Now it was Lance’s turn to draw back. Had he actually just yelled at Coran? _ Coran _of all people (er, aliens)? Coran was the nicest person ever next to Hunk, how had he even— 

But. But he’d been prying. Trying to get Lance to spill and blab about his secrets like he always did. Well, not this time. Lance would be _ keeping _this secret, and nothing Coran said or did could change that. He needed him to know that it was okay, and Lance wasn’t lying. Blind, messy anger wasn’t going to achieve that on any degree. He had to change his tactic. 

“I-” 

The Castle alarms suddenly went off around them, interrupting Lance’s next attempt at defusing the situation as he jumped a bit from the noise and urgency of it.

“Uh—gotta go do official Paladin stuff, talk to you later Coran—” he blurted, already halfway down the corridor before Coran could say a thing. Maybe he had. Lance wouldn’t have been able to hear it over the blaring sirens anyway.

Hah, talk about being saved by the bell.

* * *

The mission ended quickly. 

Apparently, a rogue group of nameless terrorists had attempted to crash some massive stolen battleship into a docile, pacifist planet. 

Luckily, the citizens harbored advanced enough technology that they were able to see the attack coming, and had contacted Voltron fast enough for the enemy’s ship to be almost instantly shot down after just a few hits from the lions. The terrorists hadn’t even planned on resistance of any sort, and had zero backup or weaponry, so the fight was over before it even really began.

Lance was both relieved and upset. It went without saying that Lance wasn't keen on letting anyone die when they could help it, but sometimes a good hard fight did wonders to clear his head. Was this selfish? Duh. He couldn’t help it though, and he was sure that a few of his teammates felt similarly (looking at you, Keith).

When the battle was over the residents—who seemed to be some strange sort of humanoid armadillos—had been very grateful, and naturally had hailed them down for a celebration to honor them, or something along those lines (it was almost always something along those lines).

As mostly uneventful as the effort had lead to, the inhabitants of the planet (a race with such a ridiculously complicated name that even Allura, a literal _ diplomat_, had trouble pronouncing, so Lance didn’t have a chance) were especially kind and their culture very colorful and vibrant. 

Immediately upon landing, they’d been ushered into some sort of large, domed room they would have their discussions of peace and hopefully an alliance in. It looked rather boring on the outside, but then the _ inside _ —the inside was an _ entirely _ different story. 

It had every color imaginable stitched in some foreign soft material that somehow had effects similar to that of stained glass. It showered everyone inside with spots of magnificent color, and Lance couldn’t help but feel giddy. It was _ beautiful,_ and by far his favorite planet that they’d ever visited. 

The Armadillians (what Lance would be calling them in his head for lack of an easy name) were very open to ideas of the alliance, and they’d spent most of the conference expressing their gratitude through gifts and entertainment and food.

The food, however, as everyone had found out quickly, was _ not _ the Armadillians’ strong suit. It seemed that what they lacked in a food palette, they made up in their brilliant, breathtaking skillsmanship of the arts. Lance didn’t mind too much (he wasn’t hugely hungry) but Hunk and Pidge were visibly disappointed at the bland salads that _ looked _pretty, but needed actual flavor. Lance stuck his tongue out at them for their griping, and he got a playful, teasing middle-finger from Pidge, and a half-hearted grumble from Hunk.

Basically, Lance was having a lot of fun. Feeling happier than he’d ever felt since the mall, actually. It was amazing, and Lance was taking full advantage as he listened to the aliens' music, which strangely sounded like reggae and pop and classical genres combined (it was strange, but very cool and dare he say catchy).

After the Armadillians were done with all they had left in entertainment and speeches, they’d offered to give team Voltron a tour of the area so show them a bit of their culture—if, of course, they accepted. 

Allura and Shiro, after several puppy-eyed glances, accepted the offer (yay!) and so they’d started trekking out of the domed color room and into the fray as they followed the Chief Armadillian. Lance stuck near Hunk, feeling suddenly ten times more chatty than he had in a while. Hunk listened and laughed and joked right back, but Lance noticed how relieved he looked. 

This was _ fantastic; _ he was having fun _ and _ making progress. Maybe this would be easier than he’d thought; maybe all it had taken was getting back out there. 

Maybe that slimy feeling in the back of his head and throat was temporary, or he’d been thinking it up. 

That would— that would be the best. Ever. But Lance didn’t get his hopes up too high, and he wasn’t willing to test it; enjoy the goodness while it still flowed in his veins. It prompted him to put an extra bounce in his step and sing even louder than the music. Yeah, he was going to _ enjoy _this.

As they walked, more and more Armadillians joined in and started following them, turning their tour into some sort of makeshift parade. Lance only minded a little bit, and turned his vague fear into frustration at himself for being nervous about something like _ this. _ He stuck with Hunk closeless nonetheless. Them all being pretty short helped also, Lance just needed to stop being such a wuss.

It wasn’t time to think about these things anyway, it was time to think about the fun part of being a paladin, so he forced his attention onto the scenery and actual tour. It was in this time that Lance came to the fair conclusion that their specialty must have something to do with specifically fabric, because factually everything, from clothing to some _ buildings_, were made of it. The aliens themselves were even decked out in layers and layers of ponchos and scarves and gloves, despite the planet’s temperature being if anything a little warm. 

Oh, and Lance knew this because the atmosphere was carbon-based-lifeform approved (Lance wasn’t 100% certain on what that meant exactly, but from movie knowledge, he knew that was what he was) and this, of course, made it possible for him to venture about without his helmet. And that was good because, you know, it was _ still at the mall _— 

Lance had practically slapped himself at the realization, but stopped himself for the sake of not looking insane in front of the peaceful armadillo aliens that had _ just _ joined their alliance. 

It had been a week since any activity or events, and the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

_ Quiznack. _

He had left his helmet _ and _bayard, and obviously there was no way Lance was going anywhere near that galaxy ever again ever, so fantastic. Just peachy. 

_ Dios_, this—that meant he had to tell Allura or Coran (maybe not Coran with how their conversation had gone) so that he could get a new one and not possibly endanger everyone with his extremely nonsensical stupidity. 

Some lie about him just forgetting them would work out fine hopefully, and Lance prayed that they were replaceable and not some ancient artifacts that couldn’t be replicated. That would really be _ really _bad. Probably one of his worst screw-ups yet.

Lance looked down at the pile of gifts he’d been granted that he carried in his arms(mostly assorted articles of clothing). The mall, it had a very similar color palette to this planets' aesthetic. He’d even bought a few toys himself there, but he’d left those in the clothes he’d tossed. He wouldn’t want his siblings to have them anyway. Wouldn’t even want to touch them at all. 

Suddenly, the presents that had at first been charming and reminiscent of his family and culture had a new, far worse light shined on them. He felt violently queasy.

Okay, not his worst mistake. Nothing would ever be worse than that, but this would be pretty high up there: destroying any possibility of his being able to fight on planets that didn’t have oxygen-based atmospheres.

Lance shook his head slightly and held his stomach; his bayard was his only defining feature, his gun the only thing deeming him anything useful. What was he now? What would happen? What would _ she _— 

No no—he needed to _ stop. _

These weren’t helpful thoughts, and Lance had _ just _been having fun. He had to keep his mind off of his worries so he could be a paladin of Voltron. At the very least, keeping up appearances to newfound allies was certainly important, and throwing up wouldn’t be doing him any favors. Focus on the pretty lights and the warmth, or any of his teammates—

Lance scanned the crowd, and couldn’t spot any familiar human/altean faces. Crap.

Okay, it’s fine, keep it together, they have to be around, he’d _ just _seen Hunk, over by the—

He looked to where Hunk had been just seconds before, only to find that his best friend wasn’t there. Lance had been walking, but he wasn’t paying attention to _ where_, simply letting the flow of the masses guide him while he was alone with his thoughts. Stupid, stupid, _ stupid _— 

Lance was shaking so heavily that when he got on his toes for better height to search for a familiar mullet or bush of ratty brown hair, he’d almost stumbled. Lance would even be alright with Coran, or even Shiro right now. _ Anybody_.

Lance felt a dreadful, prickling sensation cover every inch of him and he struggled to get air into his lungs with his new, drastically smaller throat. Any moment something could happen, someone could grab him and it would be _ over. _ He wasn’t strong enough yet, Lance wasn’t strong he couldn’t, he wouldn’t be able—and people were everywhere, brushing his body, surrounding him, engulfing him, _ trapping him. _

Lance couldn’t hear anything after that, every noise getting muffled and then cut off before he could comprehend the meanings. He, Lance couldn’t _ see _ either, other than bits and patches of carpet textures and the outline of a desk oh god stop, h-he said _ no, _ he was saying no Lance didn’t want it he doesn’t-no, _ please— _

His heart was pounding out of his body and rattling him as he backed up, trying and _ failing _to get air that didn’t exist because he was dead, dying, she was going to do it all over again if he didn’t get away, where’s his phone he needed to unmute it before, before— 

He attempted to suck in another quick gasp of oxygen when he found that he couldn’t; he couldn’t breathe, there were huge hands around his throat, and he clawed and tried and _ cried _ but they wouldn’t let go and he was going to die _ Lance was going to die he— _

Something small made direct contact with Lance’s arm—_ she grabbed his left wrist in a very tight grip— _and he was not going to make the same mistake again.

Lance yanked his arm out of the weak hold, reared his body at an angle, and put all of his fear and regret into one solid hit.

There was a resounding crack that made it through his fog, and instead of protected, blubbery skin, he was met with a smoother and harder surface that his fist had broken, bits of it digging into his hand and threatening to break skin.

The feeling wasn’t how it should have been, should _ be, _and Lance finally was able to see and feel more than a faraway physical nightmare.

He saw an Armadillian, a young-looking one with innocence shining in their eyes, and they were looking up at Lance who was towering above them with— 

With _ fear_.

Lance’s stomach bottomed out as the fleas that were in his bloodstream turned to wasps, and Lance ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the headcanon where they just slap the word space in front of regular words, it’s so funny.  
I have never been more hyped to write than these past few days it’s INSANE. Your comments have pushed me over the edge of needing to update fast you guys are so amazing and sweet like ahhhhhhh  
I won’t be replying to just any comment anymore (it’s junking up the comment count) but I read every single one several times over (even small ones are important and make me motivated!) and I’ll still be replying to long and or meaningful ones. This isn't because I don’t want to TRUST me, it’s just that I really love those ones that specify WHAT you like and WHY you like it. A few of you already do this and like two of you have deadass made me legit giggle from flattery. You are all super awesome, and the next one should be out in like a week? ish? We’ll see I have my other fic to work on now lol  
((((also if there's mistakes tell me, I didn't go over it as much as I usually do))))


	6. scotland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It’s been a bit I know, but again it’s a Keith chapter and it’s long and stuff (longest chapter so far, over 7k) so sit tight and enjoy whatever this is

Keith toyed with his food lazily, pushing the goo back and forth with his spoon without a presence of thought. Breakfast was quiet with the lack of two members: Pidge, who had stopped eating with everyone a couple days ago in her newfound moodiness that was likely related to her family issues, and Lance, who hadn’t shown up in what was likely weeks. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d had dinner with them on and off, but after the incident on the docile alien planet, even those had been cut off. What had once been pleasant conversations filled with awful jokes and laughing was now sullen and boring—even for Keith—and those who did choose to attend to breakfast were hardly trying to make up for it. Shiro was eating his share of goo silently, looking tired and a bit morose as he read some nameless article (a handbook for something, it seemed), and Hunk was busying himself with cleaning that Keith wasn’t certain was necessary. Both of them had obviously attempted to goad Lance and Pidge out of their rooms with good food and a possible movie, but both had resisted so far.

Keith hadn’t even bothered, knowing that if Hunk and Shiro’s attempts had no effect, his try definitely wouldn't bear any fruit. And so here they were, doing acutely nothing as they waited idly for the next mission.

As for Allura and Coran, they’d both been sticking to mainly the control room, talking about who knows what. Well, in all honesty, Keith could probably guess _ who _they were talking about when they weren’t discussing battle strategies and such (which Keith knew they weren’t because they needed Shiro for that and he wasn’t with them).

Lance had been the underlying subject matter of most of their quiet and quick conversations when the three remaining Paladins did talk amongst themselves, and for good reason. He’d never stopped acting up ever since the stupid mall trip, not really. His mood had definitely reflected this with how snappish and eerily quiet he was, but those were just the surface level things. 

Keith noticed how Lance’s sparring was leaning heavily, and almost _ primarily _ on the defensive. He noticed how he wasn’t putting on any makeup or beauty stuff or whatever it was (Keith truly didn’t have any knowledge on that subject). He saw how Lance was wearing warmer clothing and, most weirdly, he noticed just how high-strung he was. Lance was strangely and constantly jumpy, but at the same time also kept zoning out and staring into space often. Which was really, really strange and didn’t make _ any _sense.

Keith refused to accept he was the only one noticing these things, and so it really irritated him that not a single member had the sense to force the Blue Paladins’ ass back in gear. He certainly couldn’t do it (even if he wanted to) because he technically didn’t have any authority over his fellow Paladin, and Lance knew it.

All of this wasn’t even_ touching_ on how he’d apparently _attacked_ _an_ _alien child_. The situation hadn’t been nearly as bad as Keith had originally thought it had been—hearing about it via distressed and screaming citizens was alarming, to say the least—and the alien in question only had their outer shell cracked (which was a very minor injury for their species) through the layers of thick protective clothing they were wearing, but even still, Lance had been _way _out of line. It had nearly severed their entire alliance with the civilization, the only thing saving them being the sheer kindness of the race and Chief. Still, very confusing and nonsensical and selfish of him and—ugh! 

Lance was sure taking his sweet time soaking up all the attention he could get from this one inconvenience in his life, but what bothered Keith was that nobody was actually _ doing _ anything about it, even after his random and _ still _unexplained outburst. 

For now, they were all apparently trying to give him space; even Hunk, who, from Keith’s observations, seemed very perplexed and hurt that Lance wasn’t filling him in. _ Why _ the idiot wasn’t filling his proclaimed closest friend in on what was up with him was beyond Keith. Everything about this confusing and ridiculous situation seemed to be beyond him though, and it was driving him up the _ walls_.

Keith had at least expected Shiro to talk him down for how irresponsible and reckless he was acting, but he wasn’t doing jack shit about it either, electing to let it ‘sift itself out’. 

And Keith loved Shiro; he really did. Shiro was the only one who’d ever shown compassion and worry and kindness without an ulterior motive towards him, the only person who’d ever given him a chance and showed him what it was like to love and be loved. Shiro meant the world to him, and Keith had nothing but respect but—

But times like these it was just so _ frustrating _ because he’d made the decision to let the whole thing _ go_. No punishment, no warning, _ nothing_. Lance had holed himself up in the Blue Lion, gotten about five minutes of a conversation afterward, and then everyone had disbanded and gone back to their newfound dysfunctionality, whispering on the sidelines but doing nothing else.

What’s worse is that Shiro had visibly grown even more sympathetic when Lance had admitted that he’d attacked the alien off of ‘battle instincts’, which was very obviously bullshit to Keith because this was all so sudden and out of the blue but nobody else fucking _ saw _it.

So yeah, Shiro had bought into Lance’s story and let him go by without more than a barely stern talking to, which wasn’t helping _ anything at all why didn’t he see that—? _

“Keith, please stop that noise,” Shiro murmured pointedly, sounding and looking as exhausted as ever.

Keith noticed then that what had started as nudging the food around had escalated into his spoon shrieking against the plate without his knowing. 

He murmured out an apology to an exasperated Shiro as he set his spoon down. The food goo seemed to taste even more bland than usual today from the very few bites he’d taken, and Keith soundlessly excused himself early.

As he walked down the halls towards his room he frowned to himself and crossed his arms together. This was all stupid, and Keith really had to drop it, he really should.

…..but he _ couldn't. _

Keith couldn’t let it go because _ nobody _ was doing _ anything _ and Keith—

Keith still couldn't let the irrational worries in the back of his head go. He just couldn't. He _ tried_, but clearly just trying to put Lance out of his thoughts wasn’t working for him. 

Begrudgingly, Keith had an idea of why he couldn’t let it go, but he really didn’t want to think about it. 

He didn’t want to think about how there was still something about Lance’s behavior that hit close to home; a feeling that made Keith feel the barest hint of sympathy under all of his frustration. There were no words or descriptions that could label this feeling (because he didn’t understand it in the first place), but, regardless, he couldn’t shake it and he was starting to think he shouldn’t be trying to.

This kind of thinking, as much as it made him antsy and ticked, kept leading him back to the obvious question of what to _ do _ with all of this...this information, or feeling or—and he always came back with nothing. He could do nothing. He wasn’t close enough to Lance to talk to him like that, Shiro wasn’t listening, Hunk’s attempts weren’t working, Pidge wasn’t even _ present_—

Keith stopped himself abruptly with an aggravated huff as frustration smothered his senses for a moment, and he redirected himself towards the simulation room. It was something, at the very least, that he could use to get his mind off of this; even just for a little bit. The irritation was starting to give him a stinging headache and need to punch and break, a combo that he was very well used to—

Suddenly, the corridor came alight with red flashing colors as the alarm screamed at him and did _ not _ help his incoming migraine. Keith turned on his heels and took off toward the hangars in a dead sprint, (he was already in his armor because what _ else _was he going to do with his time) grinning tightly to himself as his feet took him unthinkingly to where he needed to go. This was actually better than the simulation room; a real fight would do wonders on all of his bottled anger.

He caught a glance of Allura talking with Lance, who from the looks of it seemed upset over something, before pointedly looking away; out of sight, out of mind.

If only it could be that simple.

* * *

“This is getting us nowhere!” Pidge yelled over the comms, and Keith could see to his left Green recovering from a barrage of hits to the side.

Keith feels his stomach lurch as Red makes a steep dive in order to dodge an incoming laser to the face, and Keith tried his best to mentally send his gratitude as he fired back at the ship through a flurry of rolls. 

He reers Red sideways to throw her weight at the enemy in order to try and break some of the cannons, only to stop himself when he sees that Yellow (who is much more equipped for the job) is already on it, sending the ship back a bit, but doing nothing to the relentless shower of attacks. He falls back slightly for a moment to see how everyone is fairing and assess the battle, and his eyes linger a bit too long on the Blue Lion when Keith’s hit in the side a few times by some of the weaker lasers. His Lion sends messages harshly urging him to focus, and Keith shakes his head a few times to clear it before diving back in for another go.

They’d been at this for about four minutes now, and it was becoming more and more clear that they were going to have to form Voltron.

Their enemy—a ridiculously huge Galra-based ship that resembled a tank in its bulk and dark color scheme, the only difference being that instead of one huge cannon-like appendage, there are thousands coming out from every side and angle—is proving to be annoyingly sturdy in its build, and the numbers of their separate Lions have no advantage against it. Luckily for them, said mini ion cannons were very weak in firepower, but the weapon made up for it in sheer numbers and impossibly unbreakable outer-shell.

To put it shortly, they were at a sort of stalemate. The ship couldn’t get them because it was simply too weak (and the Lions too strong and quick), and so far nobody on the team had managed to so much as give it a scratch. There were no unarmed or weak areas to be found, and even though the attacks being thrown at them were fundamentally weak, a handful of them after getting too close would definitely prove troublesome. His hand clenched the controls harder as he went in for another round of shots that wouldn’t do anything, and he stole another quick look at Lance’s Lion as he passed overhead.

He was also having trouble keeping his attention on task this battle.

What he’d at first hoped would be a good way to let off steam was only worsening his frustration and migraine, which only seemed to fuel the lurking worry he had towards his fellow paladin. He winced at the growing pain in his head; thinking about it _ wasn’t _ helping.

Blue was flying fine, from what Keith could tell—but he still couldn’t stop glancing over at the Lion’s direction, and it’d cost him more than a few unnecessary hits. Luckily, Red was more than eager to pick up his slack (especially in such a brainless fight) and after every save he had to endure getting reprimanded through their bond to pay more attention. 

And sidenote, Keith doesn’t care what people say about him and Red—they may not have the best link, but they get along pretty well (or rather, well enough). 

Their communication isn’t through words, more like feelings and—actually that wasn’t exactly right either. It was more like she sent him the feeling you got after being told something, if that made any sense. Like the command you get in your head after somebody asks you to pass the salt. You know what you’re supposed to do on auto, but you don’t actually hear the words of the order itself. 

At least that was the best way Keith could describe it, and it worked great for him. Sure, sometimes his Lion would purposefully disregard his wishes and attack when he wanted to dodge or vice versa, but Keith was dealing with it in stride and picking up whatever slack their lack of a stronger bond created.

Plus, Red _ was _ supposed to be the most stubborn Lion out of them anyway, right? So forming a close bond was destined to never be easy. Even so, Keith could feel their mutual trust strengthening more and more after every battle. Maybe not as good at Shiro or Lance’s (yet), but he thought that that possibly wasn’t such a bad thing. 

Lance was always goofing off and doing unnecessary tricks and turns and blaming it on Blue, which was definitely not something Keith wanted. He probably couldn’t blame much of it on their bond though, and more on Lance’s flippant nature in general.

Lance, however, wasn’t doing any of that today. Now that Keith thought of it, he hadn’t really goofed off much at all in battle since—

Since that stupid, _ stupid _mall stop.

And Keith didn’t feel good about it. He had at the start for a little bit, but now he was absorbed in confusing anger towards Lance’s behavior. And there he was thinking about him again for the billionth time—

Keith felt Red turn left to evade another hit and then berate him—much sharper this time—in his head, which Keith shook to clear. Right. The battle. _ Patience yields focus_.

He rolled right, passing over Green while letting out a cascade of attacks that continued to show no outward damage to the ship. Great.

“Alright guys, the ship isn’t taking damage so we’re going to have to form Voltron, get in formation!” Shiro’s voice finally commanded into his helmet. Keith nodded to himself, and angled Red to meet everyone else at the Black Lion.

He took a calming breath to ready himself for the connection as he eased Red between everyone else’s Lions. Keith cleared his head, feeling around for the tether to connect Red to the rest of them like they’d done many times over now, and let the overwhelming power guide him forward deeper into their link.

All together, they began their ascent, and Keith let the strength of his teammates and their own bonds meld with his as they closed in together and—

Then he felt it. Among the tethers and connections, he felt something missing, a gap he could feel strong and clear enough it was almost a physical dip—

And then he felt all of it _ drop_.

It was a feeling akin to being in a warm bath and then having all of the water snap out of existence at once, leaving you cold and shocked. The formation broke instantly, and Keith started to plummet downward in a spiral with the pull of the formation no longer gravitating him up.

He yanked up on his controls to balance Red from her near-freefall as he broke out of his own trance and saw the other Lions doing the same around him.

“Holy crap, guys!”

“Shiro, what was—”

“Everyone calm down—!”

Keith’s mind processed everything all at once after he got over the fact that they _ hadn’t been able to form Voltron_, feeling his link to check up on his Lion and make sure she was okay, or if she had any idea on why everything had just suddenly broken down—only to find that she seemed worried and addled too as he mentally brushed her.

None of them got long to dwell on it though, because as soon as they were still again, the firing started up, and Keith almost cried out at how suddenly and fiercely Red was being hit head-on. 

“Scatter again! We can’t all be together, go back to dodging—”

“Shiro, what was that? What happened?” Hunk interrupted even as he followed orders and split up from where they’d all fallen to.

Shiro grunted, and Keith could almost hear his frustration and concentration of the battle through the ear-piece.

“I don’t know, it was working fine, and we weren’t even in range of attack, I—”

Keith saw Black take a bad array of hits to the flank from across the battlefield, and could imagine him gritting his teeth.

“It doesn’t matter right now, we need a new plan, and Volton is out of the question right now.” He hissed, sounding caught up in his own piloting, “Pidge and Lance, can either of you two try and use your Lions special abilities to freeze up the ship? It might be enough to clog up the cannons and destroy them from the inside,”

Pidge responded quickly, answering with a quick “Worth a try,” but Lance didn’t give any sign of hearing the command.

“Lance, did you hear me? Come in.” Shiro asked, more urgently this time.

Keith found himself directing his focus to the Blue Lion again, this time with purpose, along with the lack of response.

“—Yeah, read you loud and clear, got it,” he said after too long of a pause, voice sounding stuffy and strained.

Despite the fact he was clearly trying to sound alright, Blue was showing otherwise. Her movements were slow, and unnaturally jerky as she sluggishly evaded the cannons wrath with far less success than before.

Something was wrong, and Keith bet it had something to do with what he’d been stewing in the past week. He’d even go as far as to bet good GAC that Lance was the reason they’d failed to form Voltron. In a way Keith couldn’t describe, when he’d been feeling around for their connection, he’d felt a lack of blue. Not the Lion or Lance specifically, just the color blue in itself.

….Alright, so it didn’t make sense trying to put it into words, but he’d _ felt _it, and he’d learned time and time again that questioning how things magical worked was pointless.

Keith tried to reason with himself; maybe he’d taken some hard hits? Gotten injured in the training room? Eaten something funky? But no, on the inside, Keith’s instincts (that were almost never wrong) knew it had something to do with what seemed to have started… whatever this was.

It was the mall, and whatever had happened there.

And, Keith swore then and there, if this was all actually originating from Lance getting bested in a fight with a girl, he was going to lose it for _ real_.

For now though, Lance knew as well as the rest of them that they didn’t have time for any more stalling or self-pitying. Keith could hear alarms over the intercoms from other (probably Pidge or Lance’s from having the least amount of shielding) Lions due to the relentless onslaught of attacks, and he knew that the only thing keeping him from having similar problems was Red’s speed. 

And so Keith, while still maneuvering around flurries of attacks, watched as Blue and Green attacked their enemy, waves of ice and clumps of vines berating the ship. Keith covered Pidge—who happened to be closer to him—as well as he could, making up for the sheer amount she was getting hit from the closeness, and he saw that Hunk was covering Lance where he was shooting layers of ice over sections of the cannons.

They quickly discovered that the duo’s attempts were effective, Pidge’s the most being that they not only clogged the cannons but crushed them as the vines grew. 

Once the attacks had been effectively stunted, it was much easier to open fire without repercussions. Keith changed his tactics from covering Pidge to playing on the offensive with an array of attacks that made the ship pay for the number of hits he’d sustained in all of this and the headache it’d brought forth.

After all of the ion cannons had been either crushed or frozen, and the tank’s method of mobility not standing a chance against the speed of the Lions (especially Red), they deemed the ship defeated and stopped their onslaught.

“Smart thinking Shiro!” Hunk remarked kindly with relief. Keith could practically see Shiro’s redden at the genuine compliment.

“It isn’t me you should be thanking,” he regarded Pidge and Lance with pride, “Nice job you two, you both really came through today.”

Neither of them answered, both seeming too flustered by the sudden redirected praise, when Pidge snarked,

“Thanks, Shiro. Of course, it would’ve been easier if Lance had done more to cover the blasters; but I guess it’s not his fault Green and I didn’t leave him much when we kicked major cannon ass,” Pidge bragged jokingly, and Keith was instantly glad to hear that there was no malice in her tone at all; only a sense of trying to revive the once always present levity back to their team.

It was really nice, actually, with how downcast and pessimistic she and everyone else had been for the past week, hearing such a light tone to her voice. It was as if, for the moment, their fog had been lifted.

“I was trying my best, alright.” Lance murmured, voice small and sounding like he’d actually been insulted by the comment. It gave Pidge absolutely none of the reaction she’d fished for, expecting him to return the challenge with mock hurt as he jauntingly defended his performance with a passionate vigor. Keith felt himself deflate. 

“Jeez, it was just a joke. Learn to take one.” she hissed bitterly, and just like that they were back to where they were.

There was an awkward lul then, nobody wanting to stir things up further. Shiro cleared his throat,

“Okay, let’s—” Shiro started, but his words were cut before he could finish his command.

They got only a second of notice as the ice-covered cannons glowed a lighter blue momentarily before the whole section Lance glazed exploded in an inferno of pressured energy.

The Blue Lion, the only Lion who was still hovering next to the right flank of the ship where Lance’s ice had covered, was blown backward in the force of the blast, a resounding scream that was abruptly cut off coming from Lance’s end of the comms.

“Lance!” Keith yelled as his vision was overcome with white, everyone else’s voice overpowering his own through his helmet in their collective horror.

“Lance, are you alright? Can you hear us, Lance!?” Shiro sounded frantically, fear taking over his usually professional tone. The Blue Lion had stilled from its whiplash, but was no longer showing any signs of activity, floating lifelessly. Even still, her lights remained on—showing that she was at least operational—but there was still no answer from the Blue Paladin.

“Lance, _ Hermano_, I’m coming, hang tight buddy!” Hunk boomed loudly, sounding equally if not more panicked than Shiro as the Black and Yellow Lions leap into action.

Keith heard Pidge swear under her breath through the commotion and yelling as he succumbed to his own heavy concern and uselessness in the situation. Unsure of what he should do, he flew Red in closer to see Blue better and be on standby if help was needed via towing.

“Why isn’t he answering, Blue is in working order, and his comms are functional” Pidge more stated, and less asked. She tried to mask it, but her worry rang clearly through her analysis. If Keith didn’t know any better, she might have also sounded afraid.

“He might have been knocked unconscious with the force of the explosion” Shiro stated seriously, “We need him back at the Castle ASAP, Hunk, Keith, help me attach—”

“—Uh, hello, h-hi, here, I’m here—” Lance’s voice rasped finally, to Keith and likely everyone else’s immediate surprise.

“Lance! Oh Lance, you scared me—” Hunk said immediately and very loudly—so much so Keith nearly winced from the volume and how it made his head twinge in pain.

“Are you injured in any way Lance, can you fly, is Blue—? What happened?” Shiro’s reassuring voice prodded carefully, relief shining through. 

“No, no, I’m fine actually I just, bumped the receiver with the throwback, ha,” he sounded out of breath somehow, audibly breathing in air, and definitely not fine.

“Lance….” Hunk started, disbelief laced in his tone.

“Lance, hiding an injury isn’t helping anyone. Are you sure you’re okay?” Shiro replied, and Keith was relieved to hear that he wasn’t the only one noticing Lance’s oddities and that he wasn’t going insane.

“Yeah, yeah actually—I’m really fine, honest. I promise,” he said flippantly, still sounding like he’d just been running.

Shiro didn’t immediately reply, so Lance cleared his throat and added, “I, I hit my head a bit, on the back of the chair, but it’s not bad. Nothing the ol’ noggin can’t take at least,” he said, meaning it to come off with a sense of levity. It didn’t work. “And Blue is good too. A lil’ roughed up and dizzy, but she’ll be okay,” in all of his rambling he at least sounded genuine about his diagnosis for his Lion, but that didn’t really help soothe Keith’s exasperation in the slightest.

“If you’re sure,” Shiro said evenly, leaving it open as more of a question. Keith breathed through his teeth in frustration to avoid making a noise of apprehension. You’ve got to be _ kidding_.

“Yep, totally sure. A breather and some aspirin is all I need to get back in tip-top shape,”

How was nobody—?

“Alright, but I still insist that you check in with Coran at the medical wing after you dock Blue so he can give you a once-over. Better safe than sorry,”

Keith sighed. At least Shiro wasn’t letting him off completely free, and if he was lying Coran would definitely be able to pick up on it. Still….

“Sure thing” Lance replied easily, or at least with more evenness than his previous answers. Together they all wordlessly made their way to the Castle.

Keith kept an eye on the Blue Lion on the way back.

The uneasy feeling stayed.

* * *

“We need to talk,” Keith said firmly, interjecting into a conversation Shiro was having with Allura and Coran. It wasn’t a happy conversation if their furrowed brows and low voices said anything for it. Allura looked disgruntled and Coran miffed, but Shiro gave him a small smile.

“Sure. Is something wrong?” he asked, turning to face Keith fully. Keith squared his shoulders.

“Yes. Well, kind of, I think,” he said, angry at the uncertainty that plagued his tone. 

“I think there’s something wrong with Lance,” might as well not beat around the bush, and get straight to the point.

“Well, yeah, he—”

“More than what he told us. Like, like something more happened at the mall. Something that he’s keeping from us,” Keith blurted, stopping Shiro from flat out shutting him down before he even got started, "I think he might be the reason he couldn't form Voltron."

Shiro frowned slightly, looking pensive.

“Keith, buddy, I think you’re reading a bit too much into this. I...we talked, and I think he’s dealing with his own stuff. You know how homesick he gets, and everyone can have an off week; even Lance. If you ask me, I think that the mall fiasco just tipped him over the edge. I think It’s best to just give him space, for now.” Keith did in fact _ not _know about Lance being homesick—and it bothered him how Shiro spoke of it like common knowledge—but he guessed it made sense with how much he mentioned his family. That, however, wasn’t why Keith was here. 

“No, Shiro I seriously—” his voice rose slightly, wanting his points to be heard, when he noticed just how _ tired _ Shiro looked. His eyes were lidded and had noticeable darkness underneath them, and his entire expression read droopy and wilted. When was the last time his brother had actually gotten some rest, or even just a break? They hadn’t had any fun team exercises in a while, no Lance lightening to mood to allow everyone to stop thinking about the fact that they were the alleged saviors and literal _ children _ in the middle of a universe-wide war.

He was probably _ beyond _ exhausted.

“Yeah?” Shiro asked with worry furrowing his brows, because Keith had probably waited too long to respond.

“...Nothing.” he said finally. He didn’t need to bother Shiro with this, with his conspiracies. He was being selfish, and he didn’t even have plausible evidence that this was an issue. Keith knew that Shiro trusted him enough that if Keith_ insisted _ something was wrong he would do something, but Keith wasn’t willing to go through such lengths just to satisfy the strange feeling he was harboring. Shiro had more important things to worry about.

“Look, I understand your concern.” he did a sort of dry laugh, “Honestly, I’m glad that you care enough for Lance to worry like this, but I really think you’re dwelling too much on it. If you’re really this upset, I recommend you talk to Lance about it, I—”

He looked to Allura and Coran who were still standing next to him, probably wanting to resume the conversation Keith had interrupted.

“—am a little swamped right now. The Galra are being particularly active as of late. We have reason to believe that they’re conversing with new allies that we supposedly already formed an alliance with, and we’re trying to work on where they’re going to attack next and—”

“I understand.” Keith stopped Shiro mid-tangent. He understood. He really did.

“I-”

“No, I get it, it’s fine.” Shiro crossed his arms, looking even a mite bit hurt.

Noticing that Shiro didn’t seem to believe him, and that maybe Keith was being a bit insensitive, he added,

“You’re right, I...I’m probably just making a bigger deal out of this than I need to. I’m going to try and talk to Lance now,” he said,

Shiro’s shoulders fell as he sighed,

“Okay, alright. If you need anything, ask,” he said kindly, putting his hand on Keith’s shoulder and squeezing comfortingly. Keith nodded curtly, turning to leave and head for wherever lance was.

“And good luck,” Shiro called as an afterthought, prompting Keith to turn around and nod with a small smile that he didn’t really feel.

As he left the room, his lazy attempt at a smile dropped as his resolve settled. Keith knew Shiro was busy, and he knew how stressful this all was for him, but he just—

Shiro was right, of course. He was getting absorbed in a problem that hardly even existed, he knew this, but it didn’t matter to the feeling in his gut. Logic didn’t satisfy it, so maybe getting to the core would. Think of it as ripping off the metaphorical bandaid.

He might as well actually talk to Lance then. It might not work, but at this point, anything was worth a try. Besides from Lance shutting him down, what could go wrong?

* * *

After first checking the medbay and knocking on Lance’s quarters to no response, swinging by the locker room (where he noticeably spent a good portion of his time in now), and even taking a quick look at the training deck, Keith was getting annoyed, since he didn’t think simply _ locating _Lance would be the issue here.

It was only luck and his weirdly good hearing that lead him to a room that he’d practically forgotten existed, much less thought Lance would be occupying. The whirring of some foreign machine had caught his attention, and he’d found Lance in the makeshift gym/training room Allura had shown them in their initial tour of the Castle. 

Keith himself had never used it, sticking to the simulation room and its gladiator. It was easier to let off steam when his opponent was moving and actively fighting him. It was perfect, getting the release without any possible negative outcomes (besides the occasional injury, but Keith could deal with those just fine).

Lance was running on some advanced-tech treadmill simulator type thing (the source of the noise) as he evaded obstacles with, well, more polished movements Keith honestly expected. He knew already that Lance had skills in certain areas—Keith wanted no part in Lance’s one-sided rivalry, and definitely didn’t _ hate _him or think he was weak, just inexperienced—but he’d frankly thought his area of expertise stuck to water and long-range fighting. The way he ran and dodged was smooth enough that Keith would believe it if he’d done this a hundred times. Honestly, the fact that he was in the gym in the first place on its own was a surprise.

Keith wasn’t a people’s person. Everybody knew this, but he’d like to think he was observant enough to at least notice is Lance had been secretly working out the entire time they were in space. No, Keith bet this behavior was new, and he also thought it had to do with the exact reason he had come here in the first place.

He breathed out and stepped fully into the room before he could succumb to second thoughts, allowing Lance to know his presence by clearing his throat.

Lance stumbled, his entire body trying to do a double-take while still running on the treadmill, and he turned his head over to face Keith through a jog as the machine powered down.

“Agh, you scared me,” he coughed, sounding more than a little irritated. Keith made a quiet automatic apology, which Lance ignored. Keith bristled at the oddness of it all, and the contrast between this and his usually displayed personality.

“Uh, what do you want?” he asked with a bit of a lip while also having an air of forced politeness. Keith crossed his arms and resisted the urge to scowl, reminding himself not to give in to the bait. The chances of Lance actually telling him things was already low, and getting angry back at him wasn’t going to help.

“Just to talk, s’ all” he replied, trying for all he could to sound like Shiro. Shiro could always calm him down, no matter how unfair it was sometimes (just let him be _ angry_), and as petty as it was, copying Shiro was his best shot at this.

“There’s not really much to talk about? Besides, I’m fine, just feel like letting off a little steam,”

Keith obvious believed none of it (he wouldn’t be here if he did); he knew a shitty attempt at deflection when he saw it. Lance was definitely hiding something.

“Aren’t you hurt?” he wasn’t sure why he said it when he knew the answer he’d get, but Keith’s strong suit had never been thinking before speaking.

Lance shot him a look, “I already told you I’m fine. Ask Coran, he’ll tell you I’m good to go,” he fiddled with the control panel of the treadmill as if to set it up again and completely disregard him.

“You don’t seem fine.” Keith shot back to Lance’s visible annoyance, and that wasn’t the right wording either and didn’t even remotely present the topic he wanted to bring up.

“Well, I am. Look, I just wanna run on the alien treadmill in peace, So if you could just,” he motioned his hand towards the door expectantly, and definitely rudely. Keith didn't move.

Lance deflated his body exaggeratingly, huffing while he did so, “Keith _ please_, I just want a little bit of time to myself. M’ sure you can understand what that’s like. Please.”

And Keith hesitated. He _ did _ know what that was like, and he could see the desperation in Lance’s eyes and _ maybe _he didn’t choose the best time to bring all of this up but he also knew that if he didn’t manage to talk about it now, nobody ever would, and it would just keep screwing with his head until it drove him mad. 

He stayed pointedly still in his silence.

Lance’s face seemed to sour, turning from exasperated to actually irritated. It wasn’t a look Lance sported often, and it caught Keith a little off guard. He didn’t let it stop him though, even as Lance stepped away from the treadmill towards him.

“Sorry, but we really have to talk about what’s going on—and don’t tell me it’s fine. You’ve been acting weird, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed it.” Keith was just the only one who was_ doing _ anything about it, is all. Not that he was going to point out such.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m—I’m just tired, dude. It’s been a frustrating week,” he said, and then looked up at Keith with a pointed stare, “Plus, why do I have to tell _ you _ anything? If anything, you’re the one acting weird; it’s out of your usual lingo asking _ me _ how _ I’m _ doing. Seems a bit off to me,” Okay, and now he was deflecting. Keith recognized it easily because it was something he did frequently (as Shiro would so helpfully point out).

Keith’s brows furrowed. “Why do you keep on—Ugh, no, you don’t but—”

He internally groaned, since he really _ didn’t _have the authority to be demanding anything of him, but goddammit they were teammates and Lance needed to stop being so dodgy. 

Lance wanted Keith on the defensive? Well, Keith wasn’t going to let that happen.

“You think _ I’m _ acting weird? _ You’re _ the one who punched a kid when we were in the middle of trying to form an alliance!” He snapped, no longer even trying to say what Shiro would say (how the hell did he even do it?),

“If it hadn’t been for the fact that the planet was so nice, something like that could have given us another enemy on our hands, which, in case you haven’t noticed, isn't something we need right about now!” Keith yelled, taking a step forward. Alright, Keith could admit that the last part was unnecessary right after he’d said it, but it didn’t make it any less true. Allura had reasoned and apologized relentlessly after Lance had retreated back to his Lion and refused stubbornly to exit, exclaiming that she had no idea what came over the Blue Paladin, and that they were profusely sorry. It was a miracle they had been just insanely quick to forgive and forget, but it could have easily gone south from there had it been any other planet with any other societal rules.

Lance shut his mouth and sent Keith a glare. There, Keith had finally addressed what nobody had the nerve to bring up, and Lance had nowhere to go. Now he’d have to tell Keith _something_. Checkmate.

“I already told Shiro, that was battle—” 

“That’s bullshit, and you know it too. Just tell me the truth—”

“Or you’ll what?” Lance hissed, taking a step closer to Keith with anger rolling off of him in waves, and _ wow _did that come out of nowhere. Just seconds ago Lance seemed a little pissed, at best, and now he looked positively fuming. The reaction was so sudden and uncharacteristic of Lance’s usual persona that Keith, against his better judgment, tensed. Just barely, but the instinct was there and Lance’s attitude was only making it worse.

Then Keith noticed it, barely. 

Lance was shaking.

He was shaking at his hands and shoulders, and slightly in his legs. It was only a little, barely noticeable from any distance, but now that Keith was so close it was as clear as day.

“Lance—” Keith tried, refusing to back down but hating how close Lance was getting. Lance had barely any height on him—two inches at best—but it was making Keith’s blood boil with something fierce.

“As much as you think so, you’re _ not _above me, you can’t tell me what to do, and you’re not—” Lance cuts him off, swinging his arm through the air in a harsh gesture near Keith’s face, but the movement was right in front of him so close and fast—

Keith grabbed hold of his wrist before it could _ hit _him, responding automatically from reflexes and the fact of how close he was—

And suddenly, his vision was a flurry of movement as he was _ shoved _backward, his head knocking the floor painfully with a skid.

In the matter of a second Lance had pushed Keith so violently that it forced him to let go, and tripped him up enough to have him on the ground.

Above him, Keith recognized once he propped himself up with his arms, Lance was towering over, shoulders quivering and breathing shaky and labored. His eyes—his usually childlike, playful blue eyes—were pin-pricked and that belonging to something feral, something _ animalistic_—

Something scared, no—_terrified_.

If Keith had thought the look on his face when he’d initially caught sight of him after the mall was bad, this was a _ whole _ other story. This look was that belonging to a creature that was lashing out after having been corned by a predator. Something desperately fighting for its life and baring its teeth in a last-line defense.

And it was scary. It was genuinely _ scaring _Keith in more ways than one, making him want to both reassure and shrink back against the threatening person in front of him at the same time.

Because that person wasn’t the Lance he’d grown to recognize over the past month. He refused to believe that this person and the one who’d made a _ fart joke _within the first ten minutes of meeting him were one in the same. It wasn’t possible.

“Don’t—don’t _ touch _me,” Lance all but growled, his shaking worsening so that it possessed his entire body in its reign.

“Don't...I just I—” he was backing up now, slowly and deliberately, and Keith _ knew _that he should say something, reassure him (of what? What could he say?), but his voice betrayed him in his shock.

“I-I’m—I have to go,” he breathed shallowly, and before Keith could get a word out of his jumbled mind Lance had turned on his heels and was gone, running out into the halls.

Keith stayed there for a moment, on the ground, stalling and willing time to stop for a moment so that he could process what he was struggling to understand.

Eventually, he gathered the strength to stand, keeping his gaze locked on the place Lance had fled from. His heart was pounding against his chest still, and he couldn’t get Lance’s petrified face out of his head.

This….this was worse than what Keith had thought. Definitely, irrefutably worse than whatever he’d imagined would happen. Keith, rubbed his arm soothingly to himself to calm his nerves down, and because along with his head his arm had taken the brunt of the fall. His skull was _ throbbing _ so strongly that he swore there was some sort of alien banging on it to escape. 

But the recognition of his pain didn’t hold a candle to his newest realization.

Something was seriously wrong with Lance.

And Keith, starting on a jog towards the kitchen?

He was going to get to the bottom of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is actually getting crazy feedback, and I have no idea why there are so many comments and they are driving me so much you have no idea. I know it’s stupid to say that in the endnotes of a chapter that took over a month to finish, but every comment I get reminds me to get back to work on this.  
Sidenote: I even got to fit some Keith headcanons I have in there, lookat me go! But seriously, I’m awful at writing Keith (or action scenes in general) and that’s probably why this chapter took so long. Even though this chapter wasn't the best, please think of leaving a comment? Maybe some encouragement? next one is a Lance pov and VERY angsty so it should come faster.


	7. when the lightning hit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to quickly remind you guys of the sexual trauma tw, which normally I wouldn’t find necessary to say again since it’s in the tags and honestly if you’ve gotten this far you know what you’re getting into, but (and this applies now and onward) lance’s flashbacks are going to be graphic. I might even say more graphic than the first chapter, as they depict specific moments that were swept over when the event was covered. The sections will usually be italicized, so if you need to you can skip them and won’t expositionally miss out on anything. Pls stay safe ily you all

He could hear Hunk in the kitchen, clanging plates and running water resounding quietly through all of the walls separating Lance from his team. It was almost surreal, hearing such normality occurring only just outside of his room which felt like the remains of a warzone.

Lance, for lack of a better description, felt like a corpse.

A rotting corpse. A casualty on the battlefield.

Lance snorted despite himself, caught up in his own dramatics, but couldn’t hold the mirth inside him because he really did feel awful. Really, really, really awful.

The sockets of his eyes practically stang, aching without the relief of rest for—what was it now—twenty varga? Maybe? He didn’t know if the pockets of sleep he got when his eyes closed for too long counted or not, but they didn’t make him feel better so they probably didn’t.

The rational part of his brain craved to nap, but the part that was specifically sectioned off for fear kept him up well enough, an over-looming threat of what sleep could mean. It was morning anyway, at least as far as the Voltron team cared, so any chance at dozing off had been wasted. No more laying in bed wasting away, it was wakey wakey Paladin time now, get up!

He found that he didn’t really want to. 

It was far too cold being exposed bare (well, if you could even call what would classify as winter pajamas bare) and out in the open of his room. He clung to his comforter, pressing it closer against his shaking and aching (ha that rhymed) body.

Lance had more blankets that he could use that could heat him up, he knew it, but the weight...

He couldn’t stand the feeling of being pushed down, forced down, forced _ under, inside he_— 

Lance had one blanket. It was the standard thin Altean one, and he wrapped it all around him and tucked in the edges to minimize the cold air.

Another set of shivers hit him just dwelling, and Lance tucked his acutely freezing face into his makeshift dome of warmth as if to thaw it, trying to rub his eyes with his bunched hands through the layer.

He now also constantly felt a strong desire to rub at his eyes, which felt as if they were burning beyond the sockets, but he didn’t want to remove his arms from the shallow warmth of the comforter. His head poking out was already adding to his increasing freezingness, and he didn’t need his hands added to the list. Plus, cold finger were the worst; _ so _annoying to move.

Lance shifted slightly, cringing when he again tried to use his fingertips to rub at his eyes, and moved to use the edge of his palms instead. He hated the way his nails caught on the fabric when they scraped against it; plucky, grinding, and uncomfortable the sensation was, and what’s worse was that he didn’t remember even chewing them in the first place.

His limbs ached and protested at any and every movement, and his stomach felt empty and damaged, not to mention he still felt like something had been torn up inside of him; a wound that reopened again and again. However, he couldn’t find within himself an appetite to eat anything to counter this, nausea quickly overtaking his chest at the mere thought of food goo. 

Despite his near-constant shivering which he couldn’t rid of even if he tried to still himself, his sweat-caked back stuck to his mattress through his shirt. He’d given up on trying to replace his sheets after every night, the chore feeling pointless to him, and simply allowed himself to lay in his filth until his next shower. 

It was disgusting, and made him feel uncomfortable in his own skin constantly, but the disgust was never enough to get himself to do anything about it. 

He was stuck in this hellish constant loop that he could stop at any moment by not being such a baby and taking initiative, but he never _ did_.

And there were things that were becoming out his control too.

Right now Lance felt like he was freezing, his mind told him he was, but he also _ knew _ he was fine. He knew the temperature was always at the high 60’s in the Castle. It was all in his head, all of it, but the fact didn’t make any of it stop. Knowledge didn’t help—if anything it made it worse because it felt like he was going insane.

Lance thought that he might have a fever, a really bad one. The symptoms matched up well enough, at least. He craved to feel his _ mamá’s _ hand caress his hair soothingly, the coolness relieving his burning fever. In his sickness she was always willing to put everything in the world aside because _ Lance _was what was important at that moment, the first priority even next to the weight of the world.

He was reminded of chicken soup, bubbly drinks, stacked up pillows and mountains of tissues; he could almost smell the Lysol in the air if he focused hard. 

Ugh, he knew it must be bad if he was reminiscing about being ill, but he couldn’t help it. Lance loved attention—at least he used to—and although having a fever always sucked in some ways (looking at you, stuffy nose and sore throat) it was also a pretty relaxing experience in others. An experience he missed greatly.

Great. Now he felt sad all over again.

Lance’s body shivered in response, and he tucked his acutely freezing face into his makeshift dome of heat against, rubbing smooth circles to create some friction and warmth.

He wanted to not be feeling this, whatever_ this _ was. He wanted this, _ all _ of this, to be a bizarre bad dream manifested from eating some sort of alien equivalent of food poisoning. 

Hunk would lay by his bedside and Lance would _ love _ the touch, the affection. He’d maybe even make him soup—just like _ mamá_—if he asked nicely, and Shiro would try to help but Hunk would swat him away, and they’d all laugh as a team and berate their leader for his crap cooking skills. Pidge would also be there, making fun of his ‘worrying lack of brain cells’ as she worked tirelessly on a cure for him to get better behind the scenes and Lance would totally hug her, really, but he didn’t want her to get his gross germs. He might hug Keith though, just to see him push him away, gagging and yelling about getting infected when Lance knew deep down at least a part of the emo liked the contact. He was probably incredibly touch starved (the thought was as amusing as it was embarrassing).

Now though? He could imagine all he wanted in his head, but when it came to playing the part he couldn’t even picture a version of himself that could laugh and joke and even flirt because dammit, he couldn’t even _ think _ about those things anymore without feeling a sense of loss.

Lance wasn’t perfect, even before all of this; as much as he'd flaunted so. He was actually embarrassingly far from it. He had bad days, he had bad thoughts, everyone did and Lance was no exception. In those times, however, fake it till you make it had always been his winning strategy that really hadn’t failed him since he’d first picked it up. He was a natural-born actor good at putting forth the most of his personality, for better or for worse, and it _ worked_, it always worked, and he’d been back in shape in a while and nobody had to know.

Well, it didn’t work now.

He normally had a personality and optimistic perspective that Lance himself admired, one that he thought was unique and likable (also sometimes annoying, but to know Lance is to love him), but he couldn’t even will himself to put up that front. He couldn’t see a bright side, no part of him felt humorous or whimsical, and his smile under any circumstance felt forced.

He was losing the parts of him that he genuinely liked bit by bit every day as it seeped through his cupped fingers. He was looking for the day that he would be able to make a turnaround, but it didn’t feel like that day was any time in the future.

He missed goofball Lance, talkative Lance, _ happy _ Lance, but...

But a part of him was afraid he’d never be that person again.

It scared him.

It also fueled him, a tiny bit.

He had to stop being useless, and the first step to doing that would quite literally be his first step; of the morning, at least. The Lance he used to know wouldn’t lay in bed all morning with his eyes wide open pitying himself. He would get up, join his team at breakfast, make jokes, laugh, poke fun, crack a mullet joke (because those totally weren’t getting old), play video games, swim, practice his shooting—

He moaned, already feeling dizzy. Okay really, it didn’t matter what he did once he was up, but he couldn't do anything where he was now. Small steps first, start with what’s in reach.

Maybe he could shower. He would probably shower.

First he had to get out of bed though.

It was harder than you might think.

He told himself he had to get up, his mind agreed, and then didn’t move. He grumbled, stretched his legs a bit, and counted down from ten. Reaching one and not feeling himself twitch, he tried again with an extra dose of perseverance, and then was able to rock himself into sitting (aghhhh so _ cold_), where he stayed for another while and then stood, sagging. He had his blanket still clinging to him, and he wrapped it over his arms to keep them from spasming.

Achievement unlocked: got out of bed. Fantastic, he was really something, huh? A real trooper, doing what everyone did every morning. An inspiration, truly.

Once up and on two legs, his earlier list felt a little more possible. Still several universes away, sure, but his options did feel more open. This was good. This was _ progress_.

Lance meandered over to his desk which he’d turned into a makeshift dressing table—really only choosing it because it had a comfy padded chair—with assorted beauty and even some makeup products lying about. He hadn’t used any of them in a while though because no matter how hard he tried, the feeling of product on his skin made him feel grimy and unclean. Plus, even if he forced himself to it would only come off in the shower, so the effort had been deemed useless.

Today, however, Lance was feeling especially shitty. He looked in the mirror, something he’d been specifically neglecting since that one time, and felt his feeling of filth grow. 

He was repulsive as he felt.

The bruise on his jaw was beginning to heal, turning into a near highlighter yellow color that offset the mocha of his skin, only working to make him look more sickly. When he opened his mouth wide he could still hear and feel a small clicking noise, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as it had once been.

It didn’t get better from there.

His eyes were drooped and lidded, and even when he widened them they lacked a sense of liveliness that was usually always present in his reflection. The blue was less noticeable, and the color that was normally a part of himself Lance admired felt fake; artificial. They were accompanied by heavy, dark bags underneath that almost felt like weights, pulling his eyelids down by force.

When he took a closer look, he noticed how dry his skin was without the spoiled treatment it usually got, and there was redness around his forehead where acne was appearing in splotches. He sighed quietly; he hadn’t broken out this badly since his early teen years. This might be comedic, something he might overdramatize, if he was feeling up to the task. A little bit of running around acting like he was having an existential crisis would get the team groaning and belittling him in no time, but alas, right now was not that time.

He wasn’t even sure if such a feat was even physically possible right now. He definitely didn’t feel capable.

He felt gross, and now he had an image to match.

In fact, he felt so gross that he wanted to peel off the layer of his skin that was hosting all of these issues and catch it on fire, maybe even stomp on it a bit. As disturbing as it sounded laid out, Lance was certain doing so would bring him a lot of satisfaction. 

Really, in a perfect world, Lance wished he could take everything gross out of him, catch it on fire, and crush it beneath his feet. He lowly envied lizards for their ability to shed their skin all at once, but lost all jealousy when his brain connected the dots concerning resemblance to a certain—nope, stop that right there, focus on the task at hand. He shivered, _ again_, and pulled his blanket closer.

Nevermind, lizards suck, screw lizards, focus.

He stared at his reflection in the eyes for another moment, near glaring at himself with the intensity of not thinking of a certain reptile (just stop), before his eyes wandered traitorously down to his neck.

The bruise that was still sickeningly and obviously hand-shaped was now a shade of light green and yellow, transforming from its previous array of purples and blues. It was lighter—less noticeable—but still made Lance a tad nauseous on sight. His hand ghosted over it impulsively, careful not to actually make contact with skin.

There were memories there, bad ones, and he found himself enraptured with the idea that there’d been a time before the bruises, before the hurt. It was boggling to think about, like every single second of his life before this had been destined to lead up to his ultimate downfall (and there he was, feeling sorry for himself again).

After a moment he closed his eyes and lowered his hand down to his lap in sour shame. He’d be stupid to let it hover for any longer, knowing somewhere in him that if he stayed that way for too long, he’d feel phantom pressure build around his neck and his throat would lock up; it wasn’t a feeling he was in a hurry to recreate.

He glanced at his desktop.

Maybe, as awful as it made him feel, some coverup would do him good. He didn’t want the team seeing him like this, or mentioning it, because Lance really wasn’t in the mood to engage in social bits or make excuses for himself. 

Hah. He sounded like Pidge now.

Lance decided it was funnier when she said it, rather than when he was experiencing it. It wasn’t the greatest feeling. It actually kinda sucked.

He studied himself in the mirror again, a tad robotically as if analyzing.

His hair was messy in a way that made Lance uncomfortable with it being a part of him, hyper-aware of how the strands brushed his ears and licked at his forehead. It was nappy, and certain sections stuck out from having gone to bed without letting his hair dry naturally. He reached for a brush and combed out the mess, wincing as it caught and tugged at his scalp. He thought that more was coming off on the brush than normal, but paid no further mind to it.

Thank god he had short, non-mullet hair, or else this would be so much harder. How his sisters handled taming such beasts every day was something Lance would never fully understand.

A hole deep in his chest tightened at the imagery of his sister’s faces, their hair all done up and pretty for _ mamá _ and _ papá’s _ wedding, and Lance was surprised when he felt stinging in his eyes right after. He blinked, and a tear plipped onto the chair space between his legs. _ Dios_, was he _ crying? _

Lance put a hand to his cheek—which was very warm—and was alarmed to feel moistness. Why was he crying? He’d dealt with much, much worse homesickness in his time away, this was just one recollection, one small, pointless thing.

The stinging sharpened, and suddenly Lance’s shoulders were knocking as he shuttered out breaths, feeling his loneliness hit him with the force of a giant wave. He couldn’t stop himself as he crumbled at the strength of it.

_ Dios _ he wanted his _ mamá _ to hold him like he was little; to hug his little cousins close to his chest and feel their hair under his chin. Marco’s reassurances, Veronica’s advice and gentle worry, Rachel’s soothing words and caresses.

Lance…

Lance wanted to go home. 

Home was where he could be _ happy _again, he...

He didn’t want this, didn’t want to be—

Knocking at the door made his head shoot up and posture stiffen, eyes on the door in an instant.

“Lance? It’s time for breakfast, are you awake?” It was Hunk, Lance realized, and he wiped at his eyes furiously and cleared his throat,

“Y-yeah, I’m up, just—I didn’t sleep well, and I’m not very hungry, y'know? So I’ll get my fix of food goo later, thanks,” he replied, wiping his moist hands onto his pant-legs. He _ sounded _emotional, voice pitched high, but he hoped that maybe Hunk hadn’t noticed through the door.

“...Jeez, Lance, you sound terrible. Are you sure you’re okay? Want me to bring you breakfast?” Hunk offered, and Lance could tell he was hovering with his hand ready to open the door (which he couldn't bring himself to lock). Crap, okay, so it was worse than he thought. 

“Naw, I’m good in the food department right now, ate a big dinner. And yeah, I’m okay, just need a bit,” he answered, only slightly more level.

Hunk started to say something, but cut off before he got the word out. He took a second to reconsider, and then said,

“Lance...you didn’t…eat dinner,” he said slowly. Oh shit—crap, crow—

“Ah, oh, I mean—” Lance scrambled his words in haste, but clearly wasn’t fast enough. He heard Hunk shift, and Lance stood suddenly,

“Hunk, don’t come in—!” before he could even finish, Hunk had the door open and was standing in the entranceway; still in his pajamas and looking worried even through the dark cast of the room.

“Sorry, ah—why are the lights off?” he flipped on the Altean equivalent of a lightswitch, and Lance blinked away the sudden brightness and visibility it forced upon him. He’d been able to see just fine from the low setting he had it on, thank you very much, and it was very unappreciated that Hunk would so recklessly disregard his chosen lighting.

Lance didn’t answer—it was probably rhetorical—and rubbed at his eyes to do something with his hands. Hunk walked over to him slowly, holding a drink in his hand.

“Hey..._ hermano_, what’s wrong?” he sounded troubled through his morning grogginess.

Lance sat back down, on the side of his bed this time, and shrugged.

“Nothing really. Just tired—a rough night, you know how it is. I think I need a bit of recharge time before the next mission, and I’ll be fit as a fiddle,” Lance cringed at how raw his voice was from emotion still, and even more so the wording. Fit as a fiddle?! Who even says that?

Hunk didn’t look the least bit reassured by Lance’s lame excuse, his eyebrows furrowing further as he worried his lip and flicked his eyes from Lance to the side. Lance knew from years of being friends with Hunk that this meant he was probably beyond any reasoning in his concern, so the cat was out of the bag in terms of getting Hunk to leave.

Hunk sat down beside him on the bed, surprisingly keeping a moderate distance between them despite his usual flopping down directly next to him, leg to leg and shoulder to shoulder. There was something in his body language and expression that read careful, kind, and patient—a version of himself that he only brought out around Lance when he knew he wasn’t feeling great. 

Lance felt safe sitting with his friend, and relaxed his stance a bit. Hunk might not know the situation, but he did know Lance, and Lance couldn’t appreciate him enough for it.

“Please, buddy, tell me what’s been bugging you—and don’t say nothing! You haven’t been yourself for weeks, dude, and then there’s what happened on that planet…”

Lance ducked his head in shame that time and kept his gaze on a piece of laundry on the floor. Oh man, the planet was a subject he had forcefully kept out of his train of thought in order to not feel like a complete piece of crud. It was cowardly to do so, and it probably made him a terrible person, but there was too much suffocating him already to focus on it for long.

Everything about that situation made his shaking make another unwanted appearance, and something told him it didn’t have to do with the cold.

Hunk waved his arms back and forth apologetically the moment Lance looked down, however,

“Not that I’m upset with you about it! Nobody is, really, we’re all just—I’m just worried for you! We all are,” he explained, and Lance’s guilt quickly turned to a simmering bitterness. They were worried about him? They all had a funny way of showing it, that was sure. Yeah, he didn’t want any of them finding out or prodding, but at the same time he _ did _ because he wanted to know that they cared about him or even just thought of him at the very _ least _as a teammate—

“I know I’ve done a bad job at showing it though, and I’m sorry,”

Wait...what?

Hunk was apologizing to _ him? _

That...wasn’t what he had been expecting. Lance raised his head again as he watched his friend curiously,

“I...I don’t know, I just—I thought that you’d come to me—not that it’s your fault at all—! I didn’t want to crowd you because I thought you’d want some space, and I asked before but you blew it off, and I thought that maybe you were angry at me? Because you usually talk to me, and it seems like you’ve been avoiding me, actually all of us, really, so I just wanted to see if—” 

“Hunk, _ dios _ no I’m not angry at you,” Lance had to stop him there, all of his anger drained from him at the despair and pain in Hunk’s tone alone, “please don’t think that, it’s just…” Well, what could he say? He honestly hadn’t even thought about how much this was affecting his best friend—for a minute, he seemed to have forgotten that anybody was looking out for him. Lance had been blocking Hunk out the entire time, and didn’t even notice, much less care.

Now, though, he needed to come up with something to tell Hunk to maybe at least reassure him that he wasn’t the problem (that was the last thing Hunk was to him, the _ very _last thing).

Maybe he could be honest, at least a little bit, about how he was feeling. Hunk deserved that, at the very least. Honestly went a long way when it came to Hunk, and a happier Hunk was a happier Lance. This might just be that first step Lance could take to getting better. This was _ productive_.

“...I haven’t been sleeping well recently. At all. It’s making me really exhausted, and, I don’t know I just I—” he had to cut off as the emotion he’d been pushing down hit a peak, and his eyes filled with tears again against his will. He tried to nonchalantly wipe them away with his thumb, but it was like trying to plug a dam with a rubber duck.

“I keep thinking about home. I really want to go h-home,” Lance’s voice cracked halfway through, and he crossed his arms over his chest protectively. He was surprised to see a slow hand rest on his leg, but leaned into it moments after. He hadn’t had someone comfort him like this in so long, and it only made him fill with more pathetic grief.

“This is all so much, so I just—god, Hunk I’m sorry I pushed you away, the t-thing with the mall happened and I hurt that kid and...a-and….”

He swallowed, hugging himself tighter. His mouth upturned in a rueful attempt at a grin even as his ugly crying made him quiver.

“And I left my helmet and bayard. At the mall, I lost them, I can’t even—” his voice cut out, no longer trusting himself to speak. It was a good thing he was already an emotional wreck, or else the expression that’d taken over his face might have been taken the wrong way.

He swallowed thickly, and finished the thought, “Can’t even keep track of a stupid helmet n’ bayard. Hunk, how am I supposed to be a defender of—holy crow, the entire _ universe _if I’m so incompetent that I can’t even handle—” 

Hunk hushed him, but it was more like a steady flow of the word ‘hey’ until Lance stopped talking. He then looked Lance in the eye, unwaveringly and sympathetically,

“Oh, Lance, is that what this is about?” Hunk asked softly. Lance nodded, putting his hands to his face to staunch the onflow of tears and hide his expression that would be revealing more than just sadness. He pushed back against the phantom feelings and memories, and focused on Hunk’s warm, grounding presence.

“Buddy, we’ve been over this, you’re—Lance look at me,” Lance shakily sighed, and lowered his hands in surrender, “You deserve just as much as anyone on the team to be here, and I mean it. _ Everyone _here makes mistakes, and nobody is perfect—not even Shiro.”

Lance didn’t agree, but he didn’t fight Hunk either. This was an argument that they had kinda frequently, and it always had the same outcome; Hunk consistently insisting that Lance was an important member of the team, and Lance giving in even when his perspective on the matter never actually changed. An ‘agree to disagree’ type of deal, and a conversation that didn’t need to happen right now. Hunk seemed to get the same idea, and sighed quietly.

“I’ll tell you what, I’m going to go to the kitchen and make some actual, non-gelatinous food with what we have lying around the Castle, and you’re going to go and talk to Allura about your missing gear, does that sound good?” Hunk asked kindly. 

Lance shrugged, since it really _ didn’t _ sound good because he wasn’t ready to see the princess’s disappointed, or maybe even _ angry _ face when she heard the news. Better yet, they’d been missing for nearly two weeks now, and he hadn’t even gone to her once about it. Lance knew he was going to get an earful, an actual one compared to Shiro’s quick reprimand after the whole planet incident went down, and as chicken as he knew it was, it wasn’t what he _ wanted _to do. Not now, when he was feeling so jumbled and lost.

Lance, however, had learned over that past couple weeks that you can’t always get what you want, so he could resign himself to admitting the fraction of the colossal mistake he’d made to the princess. 

Hunk frowned at his answer, and leaned in closer,

“Hey...don’t worry too much about it. Allura will understand, I promise, and after the stuff’s back here safe and sound it’ll all be in the past, just you wait and see,”

Lance tried to lighten up his face to comfort Hunk into believing he had himself handled,

“Yeah...I guess,” Lance replied, feeling none of the hope he was showing. If only it could be that simple, if only he could just let it go and be _ done _ with it, but the shaking and pressure and nightmares and memories that kept on popping up over and over didn’t seem to wanna follow along with the program.

In fact, a renewed sense of dread was beginning to build inside of him when for the first time he considered what telling Allura could mean besides the obvious embarrassment and wounded pride. He was going to have to tell Allura, one way or another. And when he did….

She was going to make him go_ back_.

Lance felt his stomach completely flip as ice ran its way up him. He couldn’t, he _ couldn’t— _

And he couldn’t explain that he couldn’t.

There was no way to explain to Allura _ why _he couldn’t go back, not when he couldn’t even sort it out in his head, and without any excuse she wasn’t about to take no for an answer.

He was going to have to go back. To the planet. To the mall. All on his own because why would he need any backup when all he was doing was retrieving items from a lost and found?

What if she was there?

Lance gasped.

_ What if she was there? _

Lance felt his mind go to a very dark place, his blood turning to cold fire and heart beating against his ears.

What if…

_What if_ _it_ _happened again_—_?_

_ A deep, pleasured purr vibrates on his thighs, causing his whole body to shudder against it. Above him, Taghlabuu whispers something of a laugh as she forces herself inside him again, her lips pulling up into a grin against Lance’s neck as his body reacts without his permission. _

“Hey, Lance! Lance, you there man?”

Lance snaps himself back into the now at the sound of Hunk’s grounding voice. He whips his head around and acquaints himself with the idea he’s sitting upright and not lying down as he breathes, taking in noises and touch slowly.

_ ‘I’m in my room, my space room’ _ his mind supplies as he identifies the dirty laundry, posters and familiar furniture, ‘_This isn’t the mall, and not with her, it’s okay_.’

“If you’re really not hungry, we should at least try and get some water in you. You look so pale, when’s the last time you’ve gotten something to drink?”

Hunk’s hand against his leg isn't much weight with it mostly just resting there, but Lance is suddenly filled with such horror that he rips his entire lower half away from the contact at once, pulling himself onto his legs even as everything is tilting and he can’t completely feel his feet.

“Woah, Lance what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Hunk asked, standing up himself. 

The movement makes Lance want to pull back further, but he refrains from doing so to not spark further alarm in his already startled friend.

“I’m a little...uhm..light-headed, yeah but I’ll—”

He chokes back his gag at the acidy bile burning his throat, putting on his signature cocky smirk as a reflex.

“I’ll be okay haha,” he laughs, 

Hunk bristled and rubs his arm Lance had ripped away from him in apprehension.

“Lance, you look sick do you need a—”

“Actually bud, you are totally right. I’m going to go and talk to Allura, see what I can do about the armor situation. M’ doing no good moping around, gotta get things done, stretch my legs, take in the sunlight-er, Castle lights, I mean,” he flaunts, taking long strides forward and past Hunk to reach the doorway. He had to leave he had to leave he had to _ leave_.

Hunk’s arm stops him.

“Lance...please, if anything’s wrong, please tell me. Seriously dude, you know I won’t judge,” Lance stills, and then nudges Hunk’s arms out of the way as he sends him a winning smile,

“Yup, I’m okay,” he clarifies through his teeth, and is speed walking down the hall, veering off towards the bathroom once out of sight and locking the stall door behind him.

Lance’s unbelievable ability in entering the washroom whenever it was empty is the only luck he has through all of this; call it his saving grace. It sure did come in handy when he had to take a quick five minutes to rustle down his shaking and shallow, wheezy breathing, feeling like he needed to cry but having no tears to shed. 

Even after all that time he took, there were still goosebumps on his skin, and he still saw movement in the shadows around him. Not much he could do about it anyway.

That, Lance decided, was too close. Too much of himself revealed in front of Hunk, and that memory—Lance shuddered.

It was getting worse.

_ He _ was getting worse, and Lance thought that this was probably because he was doing something to fuck with his progress.

Putting more time and distance between him and the mall wasn’t supposed to fix him—realistically speaking that’d be asking too much of fate with his track record—but it also was something Lance thought would at the very least _ help_. 

Instead every day he felt the more time that passed, the more of himself he was losing. The more the furniture in his room warped into tall aliens with glowing eyes, the more his blankets were becoming heavy weights pressing him into his bed and paralyzing, the more his mind was warping affectionate gestures into cruel, threatening ones.

He was trying to deal with it and make it smaller, make himself bigger, act like it was nothing, but he was suddenly faced with the hardest truth ever and there was no use denying it.

Lance wasn’t getting better. That thought terrified him over anything, because if he wasn’t getting better, that meant he was getting _ worse_.

And getting worse was absolutely _ not _an option.

The planet had been a slip-up. A knot in his efforts that’d lead to a domino effect, it was the only real exclamation. Give him some time, another week to put that behind him and make up for it, and then he could get himself back on track. 

And the first step to doing that would be to talk to Allura.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the abrupt ending, but DANG this was getting long what. this slipped away so fast and suddenly we were nearing 6k words and I was just beginning what I wanted to say. I had to split it, but don't worry you’ll get the rest of Lance’s POV next chapter. Also, remember to comment! Many don’t know this, but I actually take every comment, liquidize it, and inject it into my bloodstream to keep myself alive. Love you guys, see you on the flip-side.


	8. sauerkraut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bear with me. did this take me two months? yes. it is the longest chapter I've ever written? yes. could this have been two chapters? yea. so it's like, i messed up but my apology is this gigantic ass thing. lots going on here. idk if its even coherent.  
just read it I need this out to reserve my sanity thanj you

The first step to this, however, was talking to Allura.

_ Dios, _his stomach flipped just thinking about what that meant.

Despite what Hunk had insisted, Lance knew that the Princess wouldn’t actually understand. Holding onto that idea was pointless, and he knew that the reassurement had probably been a tell-tale of an empty promise to calm him down.

Allura was a good person (alien? Being? Creature? Ugh) that much was definitely true. She was brave, fierce, smart, and occasionally even playful (and also admittedly hot, but any sort of feelings he’d felt for her had been at least a little ruined), but clearly not the most understanding of the bunch.

On any other day, or really just any other time, Lance would be able to take the Princess’s regalty and professionality in stride, deflecting with humor and countering with light and aggressive banter. Conversations with Allura were easy, even if it got his insides all churned up in a pleasant way when he managed to get a laugh from her alongside her exasperation.

What’s different was that now he would have to face the brunt of her defensiveness and stubborn decision-making head on. He couldn’t really blame her—she was a Princess after all, raised above others with the idea that she would have to be a commanding leader to an entire species. He couldn’t exactly _ relate_, but he could fathom it, so he knew that she’d naturally send him straight to Blue, coordinates set without a second thought, no compromises negotiable.

Coran was different, and would be naturally an easier person to talk to if he hadn't been half-avoiding him since their little chat. Plus, Lance had a feeling Coran would refer him to the Princess with the subject anyway, so going straight to her and getting it over with was the smartest decision. Maybe. Hopefully. 

And, like most things, Lance couldn’t actually put this off. He had to have his bayard if he wanted any chance at being a useful member of Voltron, (and self-defense too, can’t forget about that, very important) and he_ really _ needed his helmet for, well, breathing purposes. He was lucky he hadn’t faced any consequences for his reluctance thus far, and he wasn’t about to test his rare luck further. He _ had _ to go to Allura.

So he had to go to the mall.

He had to go to the mall.

Lance stood from the lidded toilet he’d been occupying and let himself breathe.

Simple, it was simple.

Simple till he could feel warm, humid breaths against the back of his neck, and he pressed himself into a corner to rid of it—to remind himself what was behind him was cool metal walls and not the blubbery smooth skin of an alien, groping him and—

It wasn’t simple. Not at all.

But then again, nothing about this was.

Lance tried to imagine himself in the situation the other Paladins thought he was in. Imagined a world where she’d smacked him upside the head, insulted by his antics, instead of leading him into a separate room and locking the door. And then doing whatever came after.

He would feel embarrassed, definitely. He’d try and hide it, or at least how much it was bothering him by cracking jokes at his own expense and goofing off. Telling Allura, then, would be humbling for sure, but nothing more. Hell, he might even _ enjoy _the side-trip, taking advantage of the time off and doing exactly what had gotten him into his mess.

He had to try and do what that Lance would do. 

Not the end part, _ never _ again would he picture the concept of a mall as anything more than a terrible place where terrible things happened, but he could joke and laugh. He could tape a mask on his face for one conversation with Allura and maybe a few more after, but he’d soon be able to tear it off anyway when these things stopped bothering him. Then everything would be fine, and then he could feel like a quiznacking _ human being _again.

Because Lance, for as bad of a blatant liar as he was, was a _ terrific _ actor. 

All he had to do was sell it, just for a little while, and then he’d be able to convince her (and possibly even himself) that all was well in the mind of the Blue Paladin. Then he could get the stupid gear and be back, safe and sound and _ himself _again, because that was all this was. A no-danger item retrieval mission, in and out, over and done, quick and easy. That was all it had to be.

Lance was going to waltz over to Allura, looking impish, but not _ too _ cocky (less is more sometimes, against Lance’s first instinct), crack a pathetic attempt at a flirt (is that a new shade of pink on your dress, Princess?), and prove to her—and by extension himself—that he could _ do _this. 

Lance’s legs moved without him as he robotically opened the stall door and made his way to the bridge’s control deck where Allura often gravitated towards.

He saw her there, studying the controls alone—whether or not that would prove better or worse remained to be seen—feeling a sudden out-of-placeness that struck him so hard he almost turned back and left before being noticed. He forced himself to move forward though, summoning a grin that didn’t feel _ too _off on his face and getting closer until he was a step beside her.

Allura tensed, but relaxed instantly after and offered up a thin smile as she brought herself into standing. Lance tried to keep his reaction to her sudden height change internal.

“Hey there Princess, how's it hanging?” he said smoothly, laying an elbow on the control panel. There was a safe distance between them that he hoped was unnoticeable, “I’m digging your dress, new shade of pink?” he brought his eyebrows up teasingly, and it was super lucky for him that he could rely on muscle memory to execute the flirt successfully (or as successfully as usual).

“I am doing well, if that is your question,” she answered curtly, pointedly ignoring his comment (which was a good sign if Lance had ever seen one), “is there something you wish to ask me?”

Lance allowed himself one subtle and shallow deep breathe before enthusiastically starting,

“Ah, well, actually yes. But you gotta _ promise _that you won’t be mad,” he said cheekily to the Princess’s unamusement.

“I am afraid that I cannot ensure such a thing without first being told what I’m meant to ‘not be angry’ about, no,” she said, crossing her arms, “however, I can do my best to refrain from, ‘hopping into conclusions’,” Allura’s attempt at using earth slang made Lance’s limbs feel a bit lighter, chest a little less tight. It was enough to ease him into a less forced composure, because it was so funny how serious she was about it all.

“I’ll take it.” he said. Allura waited for him to start, giving him her full attention. Ohhh boy, here we go.

“Mkay, so basically I left my helmet and bayard at the mall, like, two weeks ago—oh wait, ah, quintants—no, that’s not right...movements! Yeah. Two movements ago. I lost them. At the mall,”

Ouch, he couldn't have butchered that up any more, could he?

Lance watched as Allura’s face turned from confused to aghast in seconds, brows coming down into a look of anger, trepidation, disbelief, and almost hurt. Double ouch.

He had intended to go on from there, getting the tough parts out first so that he could reason his way through them, but she didn’t give him the chance.

“You..._ lost_...them?” she uttered, spitting the word lost like a bad taste in her mouth, “And two _ movements _ ago? Two entire _ movements _?!” Lance said nothing, trying and failing to keep his eyes forward towards her increasingly enraged face. Triple Ouch.

Bad start. Awful start. Should’ve sugar-coated it. Calm down.

Allura, however, is only getting started.

“Why haven’t you gone to me before? Why is it only now that you decide that this is worth bringing to my attention? Do you know how dangerous—_reckless _ that is? What if the circumstance had called for you needing your helmet, humans can not survive in open space, why didn’t you, where did this—when—” her hands came to each side of her head, threading beneath her thick white hair like clips as she let out an overwhelmed groan. Allura didn’t say anything for a tick, breathing through her nose with her eyes shut, but Lance took that as a fantastic time to open his big dumb mouth,

“So they're...not replaceable....right?” he squeaked hesitantly. Big mistake (he should just keep his mouth shut) because her head shot up from her internal crisis instantly.

“Absolutely not! All pieces of the Paladin armor are unique—priceless! We are capable of repairing them, but entirely crafting a new one would take ages, if it is even possible! We must send a search out at once, I’ll get Pidge and Coran and see if they can find a way to track them through their—”

Lance frantically put a hand on her forearm which was seconds from turning on the Castle speaker system, to bring her gaze—which was more of a glare—back towards him.

“Wait! Princess, listen, I know where they are! You don’t have to get Pidge and Coran!” ‘you don’t have to get the team, and have _ everyone _ come and focus on _ him’ _ was the full sentence_. _ The situation was going south faster than you can say shmorkash balooza (something he picked up from Coran) and he absolutely did _ not _need a room full of people wondering what he’d done this time. 

“So now you’re saying that you _ didn’t _lose them?” she gritted through her teeth, and Lance could admit he had used pretty poor word choicing, but she was doing the definition of what she’d promised not to do and she realized it at the same time Lance did, sighing deeply.

“Lance, please explain the situation in full to me. Now,” It was not a request. Lance gulped at how vividly pissed she looked as he tugged at the hem of his sleeve.

“Wellll...you see, when we went to the mall, me and Keith and Hunk split up—which I already told you, but uh, after that I stayed around a bit longer and. Y’know, I uh, got in a fight with a local and happened to forget my stuff in the process. I haven’t even thought about them for a while, and I kinda just remember and uhm...here we are,”

Lance recognizes that he is dragging his name through the gutter. All of his attempts at gaining the Princess’s respect or appreciation being torn to shreds at his own hand. What idiot loses pieces of his priceless Altean Paladin armor in a fight, and then proceeds to _ forget _for two entire weeks?

And he must sound _ so _insensitive too. He’s treating missing gear as a simple mistake when it’s clearly so much more than that to Allura. It’s tossing one of the few things left of her culture, her movements, and not even bothering to seem apologetic about it.

Lance would hate himself if he was in Allura’s position. Indefinitely.

But Lance had put himself here.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

“That is completely unacceptable. In losing your armor you are putting you, your teammates, and an entire universe of people you have sworn to protect at harm's way. It..._ baffles _me how one could just forget about such a thing,” and there is definitely hurt in that tone, “but I suppose it cannot be helped now,” she turns her back to him stiffly, moving down towards the halls. Lance instinctively follows a few paces behind, feeling like actual garbage.

“You will take the Blue Lion back to the ‘Space Mall’ in the Reptilia system to retrieve your missing Paladin armor at once. It shouldn’t take you longer than a few varga to arrive, and I trust that in not too long everything will be back in order, with you hopefully having learned to keep closer track of your possessions and their worth,”

Lance can’t grasp the venom in her words or the fact that she’s continued walking when he’s too busy riding through the spasm inside of him, intestines resenting the words as they churned away from them. No. _ Por favor no_.

His lower lip involuntarily wobbles as his composure melts off of him, and Lance suddenly feels like he was left with only dead ends on all sides. He came into this conversation _ knowing _she probably wouldn’t budge in her decision—expecting it even—but now he was facing it head on with no alternative, no time to figure it out, the launch countdown had started and Lance didn’t even have his seatbelt on yet.

She was asking him to do something impossible, and she didn’t even know it. He couldn’t _ say _it.

And was it even really impossible? It literally wasn’t, not even a little bit, but yet—

But yet it somehow _ was_. There wasn’t anything to be done about it either, he’d practically dug his own grave. How _ stupid _of him.

He shouldn’t have gone to the Princess. Not yet (maybe not ever, suffocating out in space wasn’t the _ worst _way to go, right?).

He feels familiar pressure ride up his nose bridge and eyes, not as sharp since he’d already cried at least three times just this morning (a new personal record), but still alarming and frustrating all the same, averting his eyes so that it wasn’t blatantly obvious how much this was upsetting him. Without an explanation it would just look like he was being a stubborn brat.

Allura turns to him as she notices he isn’t following, gaging his reaction only to scoff and turn her back again, taking purposeful steps forward and away.

Lance can’t be sure if the heat that hits his face is of shame, embarrassment, fear, or a cocktail of all three. All that matters is that it isn’t bad enough that Allura remarks on it, as she instead goes into one of the Castle supply closets and begins sifting through it. Once her back is turned to him, Lance makes quick work of drying his eyes with the palms of his hands as he closes the distance between them.

“For the journey there as a safety precaution, I must insist that you have some means of weaponry and—aha!” she apparently finds what she is looking for through the piles of miscellaneous space crap, and promptly shoves it into Lance's arms.

“That is an emergency oxygen mask, or rather ‘space helmet’, that all Altean space crafts keep on hand—or...they used to, at least,” Allura looks crestfallen for a moment, but talks over it, “They are meant for any temporary visitors or such who may need them, but you may borrow it until you retrieve your own paladin wear in case the circumstances calls for it,” Lance studies it curiously, taking the excuse to bow his head and look at something other than the princess’s stern glare like a silent lifeline. 

It is wrapped in a thin layer of what looks like plastic with a side-zipper, much like the way new mattresses or pillows are packaged on earth, and seems to Lance like some sort of dollar store space equipment. 

“Looks kinda jenky,” he said as he zips the case open because he really just doesn't have a filter, pulling the cheap-looking thing out. It’s smooth against his hands, but also somewhat malleable, which he doesn’t think space-helmets are supposed to be.

“Yes, they aren’t exactly meant for prolonged use, but it should work fine for the trip to the mall and back. They are even equipped with automatic connection to the paladin coms, convenient for fast use under emergencies, which this was made for,”

Lance didn’t miss the hint that the Princess didn’t see this as an important matter. The plastic beneath his fingers crinkled.

She paid no mind to his notice and passed him what looked like the most TV generic laser gun ever. It was small and had a blue stripe running from the grip all the way to the muzzle. A space pistol lookalike, fitting well enough in his hand and not looking near as effective as his bayard (obviously). Not necessarily cheap, but also not very strong.

“This is a standard Altean charger handgun. It is equipped with selective fire for two separate settings; stun and emission laser power typical of an attack meant to injure. Neither are lethal from a distance, but point-blank in the correct location could prove disastrous. Use as self-defense _ only_, as you will not be disguised. A paladin of Voltron does not attack without being provoked. Do you understand?”

Lance nodded curtly, if only to defend what little credit he had left.

He wished that he could ask for a stronger weapon. He didn’t feel prepared in the slightest with a firearm that couldn’t do large amounts of damage, and he wasn’t Keith; he never attacked until the situation absolutely demanded it. 

It may have cost him badly (the words didn’t do it justice) but Lance would never hurt, let alone _ kill _someone just because his impulse told him to. Allura was treating him like he was an incompetent child, and even if she had every right to do so, it still stung.

He rubbed his thumb absentmindedly over the metal of the gun, imagining a circumstance in which he had to use it.

On second thought, maybe a heavier duty weapon _ wouldn’t _help.

After all, even if he was handed the best weapon GAC could buy he wasn’t sure he’d feel safe.

He had his bayard with him, when it happened. 

It didn’t help then.

“Now, it is important that you make sure—” her sentence broke off.

“...Lance? Are you feeling well? You look rather ill,” his throat felt dry as it wrapped around itself. His chest was tightening around his lungs. This was it. He was going to have to do this.

“You are shaking, would you like—”

“No,” he choked out, except even Lance didn’t know fully what he was saying no to. He hardly even understood why he’d said it. There were so, so many things that he wished he could decline, so many things he needed not to happen to be okay.

He didn’t want to go to the planet, he didn’t want to get up for training in the morning, he didn’t want to eat food goo, didn’t want to wear coverup, look at Shiro and be _ scared, _ didn’t want to even _ be _ out here in space, have nightmares every night and he _ never wanted her to touch him ever again— _

The booming of the Castle alarm rang throughout the halls as red washed over the room, making both him and the princess look up in startlement.

She peered at him to spare a fleeting ‘this conversation is not over’ look, before booking it over to the control deck, joining with Coran as Lance’s teammates ran about to prepare themselves for what looked like another Galra attack. Lance made it to his own room, both to get dressed into his makeshift armor and collect himself enough to fight.

He was very dizzy, that was the first thing he understood. He definitely wasn’t off the hook, but his time was extended and if he was lucky he could possibly push it back even further by trying to avoid Allura. It was cowardice, _ everything _he was doing was cowardice, but the other option was a million times worse. 

He’d already run through the circumstance a dozen times in head, awake or otherwise, and it never turned out pretty for him. He would do anything in his power to stay very clear from that mall and what had happened, even if it meant being the very definition of pitiful. He could recover from being pitiful.

If what happened before happened again though?

He didn’t think he could ever recover from that.

So he strapped on his armor and slipped on his provisional helmet, deciding he was going to give this battle his all, put on his hero mask, and then clock out immediately afterward.

It was time to get this over with.

* * *

Lance can’t get his heart to stop trying to murder him; the absolute picture of irony.

He’s calm now—err, that’s a lie, he is _ not _ calm, but he can breathe and think and all the works, so he has that going for him.

He’s functioning—well...he’s no longer panicking, he doesn’t think, but his body doesn’t seem to understand because it won’t chill the hell out. There’s a pricking on his neck that makes it feel like he’s being watched, or like Blue is going to break down any moment, and he can’t shake the paranoia long enough to focus. His muscles feel permanently tensed, pulse probably skyrocketing, and his throat is feeling unusually small.

Most of all, his heartbeat is going a billion buh-dums a second, to such an extent that it’s beginning to hurt his chest with the constriction of his chestplate.

It felt like he was in danger, of what he had no idea (he knew exactly why—).

Blue’s presence is helping with that immensely though. Her strong connection and simple reassurance is like cool waves of euphoria lapping against him, bringing him back down to functioning level. The heat of distress soothing down until it’s not more than a simmer. He realizes now that he should've visited her more often over the past weeks, because he hadn't really taken the time to just sit and appreciate her caring and warm nature. 

Even with all that she can offer, though, there isn’t much she can do when _Lance _is the problem.

There also isn’t much she can do because he is actively fighting a gigantic Galra-made ship the size of a meteor, shooting at them at all sides and angles, and being a generally unfair match for their Lions. Not quite the definition of relaxing.

So, Lance chooses to blame his nerves on the fight.

The fight which, frankly, is going terribly.

The goliath-sized ship doesn’t seem to give two craps about the Voltron team swarming the hell out of it as it lazily fires back ten times more than what they're dishing towards it. They’re fighting a downhill battle, so Lance isn’t all that surprised when Shiro issues the order to form Voltron.

Blue happily complies, sending signals of approval and excitement in his direction, and together Lance angles them to meet where everyone else is joining in their upward spiral.

Lance feels the Voltron bond inside of him leaning to meet with the others and their Lions, a plethora of warmth and colors in the form of mental tethers intertwining as their strength combines. It’s non-debatably the best, most involved and unique feeling Lance has ever and probably will ever experience, and when he embraces it he can truly feel _ alive _ again.

But something is wrong.

Instantly and certainly he knows that something is wrong.

The mind-meld requires a certain vulnerability and openness for it to work. It thrives on mutual trust and honesty amongst all members.

There is a moment when Lance realizes this. 

It’s the moment when Lance feels the bond tugging at that secret place, those hidden memories and unushered words, trying to bring them to light.

It’s the moment when everything fell apart.

Lance cuts himself off in that exact moment, violently yanks himself out of the loop without thinking through it at all, and that’s when the tethers sever and the Lions plummet.

He grasps that Blue is falling, _ he _is falling, they are falling but Lance can’t understand anything outside of the white noise blasting in his ears in tempo with his heartbeat.

It takes a second after Blue rights herself for Lance to process what he’s done as his senses return and the pleasant elation dissipates. It takes another for the shock and horror to set in.

...What had he just done?

_ What had he done?! _

The firing and panicked yelling from the comms gave him his answer.

Lance had prevented the Lions from forming Voltron.

He’d broken the bond, _ deliberately _ broken it by his _ own free will_.

Lance deflected Blue’s frightened concern with a wave of his own self-disgust, jerking his hands off the control panel, as if touching his Lion would ruin her too.

What the hell was _ wrong _ with him? How was he so selfish to put his stupid, disgusting problems above his teammates _ lives _? When had that become top priority?

And Lance knew, revoltingly enough, that he would do it again. Without hesitation, he would stop that part of him from being seen. But at what cost? How far was he willing to go? Who was he going to hurt in the name of his shame?

Why was he _ doing _this?

“—try and use your Lions special abilities to freeze up the ship? It might be enough to clog up the cannons and destroy them from the inside,”

The background chatter Lance hadn’t been listening to zeroed in on the specific command—clinged to it really, like a lifeboat against his venomous thinking. He held onto it, and with new purpose took control of Blue again, albeit with more trepidation than before.

_ Blue’s ice blast! How hadn’t he thought of that before? That would be perfect, the ice would cover up the barrels, they could get close and then it'd be over for them. _

Lance was already heading towards the ship to try out Shiro’s idea when he heard his name again through the rest of the talking, “Lance did you hear me? Come in.”

Oh yeah. He hadn’t responded to Shiro’s order.

“Yeah, read you loud and clear, got it,” he recited quickly as he released a flurry of raw frozen power back at the humongous craft. Luckily nobody seemed to care about his delayed response. Thank god.

The first blow wasn’t effective; the energy from the copious blasters melted the ice off before it could stunt anything. After another layer or two though, it was noticeable how few of the attacks were getting through the thick coverage, and in almost no time at all the weapon was becoming blocked on all sides, either from Blue’s ice or Green’s vines. 

Hunk switched from covering Lance to throwing Yellow at the ship, crushing what few canons remained and slowing it down from trying to make an escape (nice try, not gonna happen). The rest of the team followed suit, sending forth so much firepower that there were visible dents and cracks forming in the sides, and in minutes the huge piece of metal was nothing but a hunk of floating space junk. Mission accomplished.

“Smart thinking Shiro!” Hunk complimented earnestly, and Lance nodded even though nobody could see. His plan was perfect, and Lance wasn’t sure what else they could have done with Voltron out of the question. Because of him.

He remembered his failure in full force again.

Right. That happened.

“It isn’t me you should be thanking. Nice job you two, you both really came through today,” Shiro said, passing on the compliment, but Lance hardly felt it. They only needed to attack because Lance had screwed up their rhythm, Voltron could have destroyed the ship like _ that_. Guilt swelled inside of him, filling in the gaps left from his self directed detestment. It left no room for pride.

“Thanks, Shiro. Of course, it would’ve been easier if Lance had done more to cover the blasters; but I guess it’s not his fault Green and I didn’t leave him much when we kicked major cannon ass,” Lance blinked, taken aback by the double-meaning, and felt his face heat up. He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not, but the turning of the complement put words in his mouth anyway,

“I was trying my best, alright,” he reasoned, trying not to sound hurt. He _ wasn’t _ hurt.

Instant regret followed at the unmistakably awkward silence that was cast. Either it was the wrong wording, or he was just far off at gaging what Pidge was trying to say (he used to be so good at that though), but whatever it was made Pidge scoff sharply,

“Jeez, it was just a joke. Learn to take one.” Lance internally flinched.

Yep, yeah, definitely gaged it wrong. She was probably joking. Teasing? Sarcasm? And why was it so hard to tell? He cut off the apology that was tugging at his lips, because sorry wasn’t something Lance would say here. A joke, maybe, but he didn’t trust himself enough to execute it properly.

Well, even if he theoretically had tried, it wouldn’t have mattered. 

Lance sensed the energy build up, somehow, before he saw the light.

There still wasn’t enough time to move.

Shiro’s next words were clipped as Lance’s world was encompassed by white and pressure as the explosion rushed him, his head slamming into the back of his seat with such force that he saw stars among the brightness, his body pinned to his chair.

The next moment, Lance was somewhere else.

_ The back of his head hit the panel of the couch, the pain making Lance’s yell he’d barely even registered making cut off, but before he could do anything at all Taghlabuu was on him, yanking his helmet off and tossing it to the other side of the room. _

No.

_ It felt like the rough texture of the couch was branded into his skin, just as the way her hands had him in a hold at his hips. His mind was trying to turn everything behind him numb, but no amount of make-believe can let him forget about the agony keeping his nerves alight when his brain wanted to shut down. _

Please stop.

_ Lance has almost achieved a sense of detachment and awayness in the constant rhythmic motion, but then he feels a trickle of something running down his thighs and sticking to him, and everything just comes flooding back as he screams a tight, sandy song. _

He can’t.

_ But she doesn’t like it, she doesn’t want him to scream, so she—_

  
  


“—Hermano—” 

Words, real words, he needs them, he _ can’t—_

_ He can’t, he’s sorry, but he can’t, please come back, he can’t do that, he can’t feel these things, he can’t, he won’t, he doesn’t want to. _

_ So she takes his—_

“_—_Blue is in working order_—_”

There’s meaning in the words, he’s in a chair, the chair is hard and smooth, there’s fabric on his legs, he’s sitting upright, that pain isn’t real—wait, _ that _pain is real, but it’s okay because he is sitting up and—

And there’s _ Blue_.

She’s holding him, and she is good.

Blue means he’s safe. Always.

He’s safe.

He is safe.

Lance is safe.

He doesn’t feel safe.

He is scared.

There are words.

He needs to respond to the words, that’s a rule.

He needs to say something.

He moves his arms, checks his transmission. It is off.

That’s okay. He needs to turn it on to hear them, so they can hear him.

“—back at the Castle ASAP, Hunk, Keith, help me attach—”

“Uh, hello, h-hi, here, I’m here,” the words don’t feel like his own. They feel like he’s reading them from a script somewhere else.

The chair is hard. He is alone. He is sitting upright. Blue is here. Blue is safe. Lance is safe.

“Lance! Oh Lance, you scared me—” and that is Hunk, he’s so loud and his voice so kind, worried for him, why is he worried? That’s a bad sign.

“Are you injured in any way Lance, can you fly, is Blue—? What happened?”

What happened—? The warship. His ice, the explosion, he hit his head, he—

Oh. He knows what happened.

Okay.

“No, no, I’m fine actually I just, bumped the receiver with the throwback, ha,” he isn’t really lying, right? It feels like he is.

“Lance…”

It must also sound like it. Hunk doesn’t seem convinced. Maybe he is lying.

“Lance, hiding an injury isn’t helping anyone, are you sure you’re okay?” there’s Shiro, and he also sounds concerned, but more in a scolding matter. Lance persists.

“Yeah, yeah actually—I’m really fine, honest. I promise.” his head is still throbbing and making him blink every time it did so, so he isn’t completely fine, but he really thinks the majority of him is okay. 

“I, I hit my head a bit, on the back of the chair, but it’s not bad. Nothing the ol’ noggin can’t take at least” he explains, and then realizes another reason why they’re probably worried before adding, “And Blue is good too. A lil’ roughed up and dizzy, but she’ll be okay” and she is. She doesn’t seem hurt, only gentle and urging. Lance knew she’d be alright.

“If you’re sure,” Shrio says slowly.

Lance bobbed his head up and down for a good couple dizzying seconds before he realized Shiro couldn’t see him.

“Yep, totally sure. A breather and some aspirin is all I need to get back in tip-top shape,” he said confidently. He didn’t want anybody worrying over what wasn’t worth worrying about. 

“Alright,” he started, but Lance could hear the ‘but’, “but I still insist that you check in with Coran at the medical wing after you dock Blue so he can give you a once-over. Better safe than sorry,”

Lance winced. _ So close_, but if that was all, he would take it.

“Sure thing”

He’s fine. He’s sitting. There’s clothes. There’s Blue. He’s fine.

Lance flicked his fingers over the buttons of his crappy helmet (that shouldered a good amount of the blame for the back of his head pounding), fiddling until he found a way to mute himself without cutting the comms off. There wasn’t a distinct reason why he did this—that he could identify, at least. Maybe he just wanted some alone time before he was bombarded with eccentrically asked questions and remarks from Coran. Maybe.

When Lance grabbed hold of Blue’s controls, he felt everything she’d been holding back for the sake of not overwhelming him hit like a tidal wave. After Lance rode through the full-body muscle spasm, he put attention towards understanding what she was so upset about.

First off, he could definitely feel how much the explosion had taken out of Blue; her drained aura prominent enough that it nibbled at his own dwindling drive. The shift was extra notable since she was almost always playful and energized, like a super deadly puppy that, when formed with other puppies, turned into one _ big _puppy. Now she just felt drained, but still determined and ready as ever to fight.

Immediately after this he recognized persistent fretting that, once introduced, she kept pushing to the front of his brain relentlessly.

He mentally shushed his Lion, compelling her not to worry. She elected to ignore his plea, and only seemed to get more worked up, mentally pawing at him and trying to get him to do _ something _about...something, she wasn’t really specific.

Lance blocked her out the best he could when she got stubborn, since all she was doing was making him exasperated, and caught up with the rest of the team, meeting them in the middle of the pack. As he flew, he couldn’t help but idly notice the ship; or well, what remained of it, and _ holy crow. _

It’d been busted before, but the explosion had completely totaled it. A good chunk was missing from the section Lance had covered, bits of it spread out, and thank _ dios _he hadn’t been any closer, or else who knew what sort of damage Blue might’ve taken. 

She might have even gone offline with how weak the defense system was after the ships persistent onslaught. Blue would have been fine, eventually, because the other Lions could have towed her to safety, but Lance not so much. That would have sucked, being stuck in his Lion, lights off, in a cramped, tight, constricting space for who knew how long.

It would have super sucked.

Living in the present now though; it _ would _have sucked, but it didn’t happen. He would be back at the Castle in no time, where he could pass through Coran's checkup and hide away for as long as possible.

Well, he could _ try _that until Allura found him and dragged him out. Or Coran stuck his nose in Lance’s business and they argued again. Or Shiro confronted him about being the missing link in the Lion circle of friendship. Maybe he’d sit him down and bring back up the Armadillan planet incident, realizing how easy he let him off before.

Really, there were plenty of things that could happen. That were _ going _ to happen. That he simply couldn’t avoid, and the more he tried to the more things he screwed up. He’d already decked a child and torn Voltron apart, but it could get _ so _ much worse, since _ he _was getting so much worse. 

A hit to the head was all it took for him to fall apart; he was practically a time-bomb. What happened if a life was actually on the line? Lance would like to think he could reveal it then, but would he? Would he put it out there just like that? He didn’t know. (What was there to reveal, what was there to say?)

What he did know was that his teammates would never look at him the same way again. Lance had never taken the time to analyze it through enough. Maybe what _ he _ did was wrong? Maybe they would hate him? What if it was just a misunderstanding, and all of this was pointing towards the fact that Lance was actually a terrible person who was just so self-obsessed that he was creating this fake scenario in his head? Why had Blue even chosen him if all he was destined for was sinking and dragging everyone else down with him?

He was just going to continue on hurting people until—

Until what?

Until forever, was his plan.

Or, y’know, till he—

Disappeared.

He benched the conversation along with Blue’s still constant pushing. He tried to bench his quivering, but he guessed that would be asking too much.

Lance found that he could staunch his thinking when he pinched his hand really hard.

He didn’t stop doing so for the remainder of the ride back, but never once did the spots where hands had once grabbed stop itching.

* * *

“‘Completely fine’ my Trufalian meringue! Look at that, now!” Coran said, holding a square-shaped mirror to the back of Lance’s head. Lance eyed the mirror in front of him to get a look at what was connected to his headache, and couldn’t help but grimace at his own expense.

Coran was only partially exaggerating, the bump was _ bad. _ His hair covered it up mostly, but it was very clear when touched that there was a bulge. “It’s the size of a small hifflebuple, must hurt like one too! How did you manage to get such a lump?” he set down the mirror and reached for what looked like an ice pack on the farside table.

Lance sighed, barely stopping himself from telling Coran to lay off the Altean euphemisms for the sake of not reminding the advisor of their previous interaction

He doubted the Altean had forgotten, peppiness and cheer aside. Lance didn’t want to give him any reason to jump on the topic. He didn’t have the tolerance to deal with it alongside with having Allura on his back,_ and _ the new possibility of being accused of breaking apart Voltron. Too much, too soon, recharge needed. He was so tired.

“It was already hurt before, I hit it in a mission a few weeks ago. I didn’t see the sentry till I did,” the lie came out unnervingly easily, so much that it almost surprised Lance himself. He was even more surprised that half of it had been truth.

The bruise was only slightly risen two weeks ago—he had his helmet to protect him then, although not for long after—but now that his head had been struck again in the exact same spot, it had become quite the problem area, and _ wow _ did it hurt.

“Well that must have smarted quite a bit! Looks like you have a second head blooming right out of you,” Coran said matter-of-factly as he went to touch what Lance was now sure was an ice pack to his sore spot. Lance snatched it from his hand dramatically, as if offended.

“It does not!” he insisted. There was no way he was going to let Coran, or really anyone, touch his bruise. Not when it was apparently a risk just for him to think of it. 

Lance put the pack on the spot himself, shivering definitely from the coldness, and crossed his other arm over his side grumpily to disguise his stupid tremors.

“Ah, don’t you worry, my boy! It’ll be gone in a week or two, and in the meantime, I will speak with Allura about finding a way to integrate more padded chairs for those Lions. Can’t have our Paladins getting their noggins injured, now can we?”

Lance only grumbled passive-aggressively.

“On a more serious note,” he started, and Lance stiffened. Here it was, what he’d been dreading, time for him to spin more lies of fake reassurances—“I do have to assure that you don’t have a concussion. Even minor ones can be highly hindering on the battlefield, so you can never be too sure! Especially with such a sizeable bump,” Lance blinked, and relaxed minutely. So he wasn’t going to mention it, somehow. That was a major relief, Coran nagging him was the hardest to work around since he didn’t let his emotions sway.

Maybe not going to Coran before Allura had been an oversight.

“Now then, stand up, I’m simply going to go through the standard Altean concussion procedure; tell me if I’m missing anything for what you humans might do!”

The next couple minutes were spent with mainly repeating words back to Coran, counting down set patterned numbers, and seeing if he could stand upright on one leg. It was strangely very calming on its own, especially since Lance apparently did fine on all of the tests, and by the time Coran declared he was done Lance was feeling much better than before. Huh. Whaddayaknow. 

“I believe this means you’re free to go, number three! Just try and take it easy, don’t sit up too fast, and none of that treed-miling for at least another movement. Oh! And try and put some ice on it whenever you have some free time as well! It’ll help speed the whole process up a whole lot,”

Lance smiled in genuine gratitude; he hadn’t wanted to do this initially, but it’d somehow turned into a nice unwinding activity along the road. His headache was already feeling much better too, his thoughts less prying, so that was a total plus.

“Thanks Coran, will do.” he said, saluting the advisor as he left, feeling more loose and casual than he’d felt in ages.

His first thought was to get to his room, jump into bed and stay there for as long as his paladin duty allowed. Then he remembered the unfortunate nature of his head, and how if he tried to go to bed now there was no way his sleep would do anything but increase his fatigue. Sure right now he was tired, but not quite tired enough. He needed knockout amounts of tired if he wanted to get a good nights rest, or else what was even the point of trying?

Coran may have recommended that he should lay off the treadmill, but a few rounds never hurt anyone, that was for sure. He just needed to get it out of the way. 

It wasn't like Lance wanted to run. Seriously, his head was still stinging, limbs sore, mind drained, but he didn't have any other options. He didn't.

So excersize room it was.

Woohoo.

* * *

Thirty minutes in, and Lance wasn't feeling any better.

His sweat formed a thin layer over him, but did not feel refreshing or productive. Really it just made him feel filthy. Filithy, burned out, and tired.

He just felt really tired, but never tired enough that he was sure he could fall asleep. His paranoia stuck to him thickly, made him feel like he was running from someone. Someone he couldn't run away from nomatter how much his muscles burned. It terrified him into creating a fear that when he turned around he'd see the picture of the person that tormented him day in and day out. So he couldn't stop running. Couldn't stop hurting.

Which is why the cough that sounded behind him was more than a little startling. Petrifying, actually. Lance took it in motions though, and stuffed words of safety into his head before it could fill with other ideas. He was unable to force down the natural instinct to appease to his paranoia though as he turned to get a quick glance behind him, more as a reminder than anything. He was greeted by the sight of a familiar red prick. He’d probably startled him on purpose. Asshole.

He could identify the cough anyway right after (he was somehow able to portray his patronizing nature just by clearing his throat) and most of the fear was turned quickly into irritation. Of _ course _ his one break had to be interrupted, by _ Keith_, no less. Keith who had zero reason to be in Lance’s business. He was probably just there to tell him that he docked Blue three and a half inches too far to the left, or something.

“Agh, you scared me,” he said flatly. Almost accusingly, but he was able to bite back the tone. Getting angry with _ Coran _ had made things escalate, he didn’t want to know how much talking back to hothead Keith would bite him in the ass. And what was it with people coming to him when he was running? He thought this place wasn’t well-known, it was the prime reason he’d chosen it in the first place.

“Sorry.” Keith apologized automatically. Lance ignored it, knowing it was more of a pleasantry than him actually giving a crap about interrupting him. He waited for Keith to get to running his mouth, but was taken aback when the silence stretched on.

“Uh, what do you want?” he asked impatiently. He wanted this conversation over and done. In fact, now that he'd stopped running, he guessed he’d be able to pass out before his brain could supply him with a new bout of thoughts to chew on. Peaceful sleep sounds heavenly right about now. A true escape.

“Just to talk, is all,” he said, sounding...reasonable, of all things. Reasonable was not a word Lance associated with Keith. It made him even more annoyed, because he couldn’t just get to the point, and say what he wanted to say. It was back with the stupid silence again right after, as if Keith expected _ Lance _ to pick up the conversation. As if they were friends.

Keith had never treated Lance like a friend before, so Lance wasn’t going to give him that. He _ was _ going to say something though, because the longer the quiet loomed the less control he had.

“There’s not really much to talk about? Besides, I’m fine, just feel like letting off a little steam,” he was being honest, if not uncooperative, with his answers. He was also beginning to get a good idea of what Keith was aiming for, but Lance couldn’t for the life of him think of a reason. This was _ Keith_, Keith who was painfully blunt, Keith who couldn’t care less what Lance was doing at any point of the day unless it directly affected him.

He looked miffed by Lance’s response, but not provoked. A bit curious too, for whatever reason. Lance guessed that he was probably just here out of moral obligation and nosiness, feeling like he wanted to ‘check in on him’ as a comfort to himself that he wasn’t completely uninvolved as a teammate. 

“Aren’t you hurt?” he questioned, somehow still keeping his likely growing impatience at bay. Lance wasn’t having such luck, bitterness from the morning rising. What did Keith care if he was hurt? And common sense would tell him that Lance was obviously fine, or else Coran wouldn’t let him go so easily (sure he was actively going against one of Coran’s wishes of not “treed-miling”, but that was beside the point).

“I already told you I’m fine. Ask Coran, he’ll tell you I’m good to go.” he said with a sharp look, going over to the controls of the treadmill to properly shut it down. For as advanced Altean technology was, you’d think that there would be some sort of shutdown button. 

Lance learned after the third or fourth go that the machine could indeed run out of battery life in means of the tread part coming to an abrupt stop, making him fly forward. He _ still _had pesky little scrapes on his hand from the fall. 

He theorized that the treadmill room wasn’t used _ because _of it being outdated, but it could also be from the fact that it had to run on a less efficient power source to not drain energy from more important systems—

“You don’t seem fine,” he hissed; and _ there _ was the entitled authority. He _ expected _ Lance to answer truthfully, as if Lance owed Keith the truth. Newsflash: he didn’t owe him quiznacking _ anything_.

“Well, I am. Look, I just wanna run on the alien treadmill in peace, So if you could just,” he gestured towards the door lazily. Keith fixed on him a stubborn look, and didn’t move a muscle. Great.

Lance deflated, seeing that Keith was clearly not going to take avoidance as an answer. Time for a new tactic: “Keith please, I just want a little bit of time to myself. M’ sure you can understand what that’s like,” he put up his most pleading face ever without seeming too over-the-top. Keith loved it when Lance acted like he had power, as if Lance had to ask Keith for permission. “Please.”

Lance was certain when he said it that Keith would drop it, _ everyone _ else had dropped it, but a good ten seconds passed where Keith didn’t budge and Lance was realizing he wasn’t going to leave. First confusion welled inside of him, and then bubbling anger. Because _ seriously _? How stubborn could he be?

“Sorry, but we really have to talk about what’s going on—and don’t tell me it’s fine. You’ve been acting weird, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed it” 

Lance nearly gaped at the sheer boldness, face reverting to an automatic scowl. Who was he to be sticking his nose in Lance’s business? They weren’t friends, Keith didn’t even make an _ effort _ for them to be friends, yet he had the nerve to act like he deserved an explanation.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m—I’m just tired, dude. It’s been a frustrating week,” Lance made a conscious effort to reply without venom, but his resolve broke when he looked up at Keith and his irritation stirred within him, “Plus, why do I have to tell you anything? If anything, you’re the one acting weird; it’s out of your usual lingo asking me how I’m doing. Seems a bit off to me,” he said trivially. Petty or not, he had a point. He could understand if it was Hunk, or even Shiro, Allura or Coran. Even Pidge would make more sense at this point, but Keith was so out of left field Lance was having trouble keeping up.

He was already so emotionally and physically drained from an entire day of everything going wrong, his headache was coming back with a dizzying, pounding force, and dealing with confrontation was exhausting enough as is. Keith was now the only thing between Lance and the bliss of dreamless unconsciousness.

Keith had the audacity to look surprised (did he expect Lance to just complacently tell him what he couldn’t even tell his best friend? Must’ve had pretty damn high expectations), before fumbling,

“Why do you keep on—Ugh, no, you don’t but—” the satisfaction from making Keith trip over his own words was sweet, but was cut short when Keith’s false collected exterior noticeably cracked, “You think I’m acting weird? You’re the one who punched a kid when we were in the middle of trying to form an alliance!” Now it was Lance’s turn to wince. Keith must be pretty desperate—for whatever unexplainable reason—to bring up what had been deemed as a taboo topic, and he wasn’t even done.

“If it hadn’t been for the fact that the planet was so nice, something like that could have given us another enemy on our hands, which, in case you haven’t noticed, isn't something we need right about now!” Lance’s words died on his tongue before they could be said. He didn’t have an argument for that, he _ agreed _ with it, but he still didn’t have to tell Keith shit. He was going to act like he had any right to be here, interrogating Lance as if he was his superior? _ No vando pasar, _ no _ way_.

“I already told Shiro, that was battle—” he tried, but Keith spoke over him instantly, as if he’d been expecting that excuse.

“That’s bullshit, and you know it too. Just tell me the truth—”

“Or you’ll what?” he spat impulsively. They were now noticeably, dangerously close to each other, and Lance hardly even remembered stepping forward. Lance was taller though, barely, but it made him feel strong. Powerful. He wasn’t weak, or small, Keith didn’t have _ anything _on him, didn’t have any power, couldn’t stop Lance from leaving the second he fucking wanted to leave.

Keith tried to say something then, but Lance shot it down, refusing to let Keith try and use his stupid words to list all the reasons he was better, more skilled in every field possible, because it did not matter right now, did not mean Lance _ ever _ had to do _ anything _he didn’t want to do, 

“As much as you think so, you’re not above me,” he sneered right down to Keith’s stupid face, stupid _self_ that always mocked him just by existing, “you can’t tell me what to do, and you’re not—” he waved his arm across in a spontaneous cutting motion when it was suddenly halted in a tight, iron-strong grip, he tugged, couldn’t get free, hysterical laughing let me _ go LET ME GO—_

Keith was on the ground then, and Lance felt crawling in his skin and drilling in his head.

“Don’t—don’t touch me,” he <strike>_begged_</strike> snarled—warned, the area that’d been restrained burning and jumping with memory and fear. His skin remembered the feelings and pain and revulsion and shame, and it found the touch terrifying and wouldn't let it go (like she wouldn’t let him go, never when he wanted her to, only when _she_ was done).

“Don't...I just I—” why was he still here? He could leave, he could run, before it was too late (_but it was already too late_).

But this was Keith. And he was on the ground? Because Lance had pushed him.

Because Lance had pushed him…?

He looked so scared. 

Of Lance?

Because Lance had _ pushed _him.

_ Dios mio. _

Not again, not Keith, Lance would never hurt his teammate, he could _ never _ hurt Keith.

But he just had.

Oh god he just had.

Oh god.

He was going to be sick.

Lance said something, said he needed to leave, and then had his feet taking him down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY! YOU THERE! this is actually an important note don’t skip this haha.  
So there is this amazingly underrated fic called ‘Front and Centre’ written by crazyrandomhappenklance (miles_from_home) that you should check out with amazing characterization, humor, and just general writing and plot. honest to god one of the best and most unseen fics in this entire fandom. It has Lance angst (which I know you like since you’re here) and Keith angst, but they are both written. so. well. It is a singer AU with enough dramatics and angst to fuel your soul, and on top of that it’s a slow burn klance. Who could ask for more? (even if you don’t like klance there’s more to it than that)  
Just trust me and check it out, you won’t be disappointed I swear it is AMAZING if you just give it a try. ((I don’t know the writer personally and they didn’t ask or anything, it just drove me crazy how INSANELY underrated their stuff is so please, please give it a read :((( ))  
Alright so now that that’s aside uh, yeah! This chapter was really fun to write, and only took a while because of the dreaded winter break and all that comes with it. Everything is about to go to shit starting next chapter (which I’m REALLY excited to write). Stay tuned folks, and don’t forget to COMMENT it makes me so so happy when yall do, you’re all just so NICE smh.


	9. the house with no doorbell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally how many times am I going to underestimate how long a chapter is going to be? this bad boy and the next two were going to be ONE. This is part one of a probably three-parter, and I am hyped to write the more crazy scenes. For now just vibe with this lowkey late chapter ;)

Running down the hall with Lance’s words fresh in his mind, Keith smells the kitchen before he even sees it. He’s rounding the final bend when a burnt, spoilt smell—like garbage caught on fire—hits him head-on, making him cringe a bit against the bitterness.

When he crosses the threshold, a wave of warmth and more of the nasty stench overwhelm his senses for a moment. He blinks it away quickly and sees Hunk, a cooking pan in one oven-mitted hand and a spatula in the other. He’s trying to vigorously scrape charred pieces of something off the pan. It doesn’t seem to be working, if his creased eyebrows and visible aggravation have anything to say about it. 

By the looks of it, he notices Keith enter the room with a quick almost invisible glance, but doesn’t seem to recognize his frantic composure, continuing to scrub and only regarding him with a hum and tilt of his head.

“Oh hey, Keith, you wanna lend me a hand and pass me the soap? The green one in the cupboard behind me—not the one next to the sink, I need the real strong stuff. It’s in the very back.” Keith stops—the momentum from his near-sprint dying off—and slowly processes Hunk’s request. 

His heart is still pounding, adrenaline still pumping, but he can’t just stand there looking dumbstruck at a simple favor. Slowly, he nods, stepping over to the counter and having to stand on his toes to sift through the assorted items for something green that met Hunk’s description.

“What...happened here?” he asks right as he finds the soap, if only to address the elephant in the room and the source the gross smell permeating the kitchen and reminding him of his still _ very _ present headache (ouch, yeah, that’s definitely gotten worse with his head hitting the floor). 

He’s in a rush, but not so much that he has to be an ass to everyone. Keith feels pressure to be extra kind to Hunk, as if it might somehow balance out his fight and sharp words towards Lance.

_ 'Don't—Don't touch me.' _

He takes a deep, weak breath and shakes the thought away.

Besides, if he wants Hunk to tell him about Lance and get some answers—which is why he’s here in the first place—he wasn’t going to get very far with yelling. You catch more flies with sugar, or, uh, something like that. Bottom line, he was going to try this slow and steady.

His teammate groaned lowly in response to his question, and Keith knows he’s about to listen to a tangent.

“I was trying to make some real food with the goods from the planet a few systems back; that market with all the different types of melons? Yeah, well I snagged a few that seemed edible-ish, had Coran check them over and give them the green light and, y’know, I just thought it’d be nice. Eating something non-gelatinous. It seemed to me like a lot of the team needed a good pick-me-up-meal to get them going again—but, well, look how well that plan turned out,” he said, grievously staring down the remains of what was apparently at some point a melon, frowning deeply.

“It was going so well too, I just kinda forgot to turn off the oven with all the alarms and lights and stuff. Galra really know how to pick the crummiest timing, huh?”

Keith hands him his soap, and Hunk shoots a tiny thank you his way before squirting it all over the dirty pan, letting water run it over as he scrapes tirelessly, “And it smells _ awful _too—sorry about that, by the way,” Hunk blanches, looking apologetic, “Maybe I dodged a bullet here after all, doesn’t seem very appetizing anymore.”

Keith got another big whiff of the stench and agreed, “Yeah, maybe.” 

The gap that follows is all-encompassing, filled with potential. It’s not necessarily awkward or comfortable, just empty. Keith takes it as his cue to speak.

“Hunk. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

The Paladin hums in clearance, but the higher lit reveals he’s also surprised.

“Uhhh, alright. Shoot.”

He mulls his words over in his head, only for a second, just so that he doesn’t make the same mistake he made with Lance. He didn’t want to come off as an insensitive prick again. Doing something for the irritating headache after their talk might help with that too.

“Lance has been acting weird,” he says as a statement. Keith hears Hunk’s scrubbing cease a moment later, shoulders sagging.

“...Yeah. He has.”

He flips the nozzle for the running water off.

“...What...makes you say that?”

Keith just shrugs on impulse.

“He’s just been acting strange. I thought it was obvious.”

Hunk turns so that only his side is facing Keith. He looked unsure, and Keith realized he’d have to give him more than that if he wanted Hunk to talk. He swallowed. “We had a fight. He got upset and, I just wanted to know if he was okay.”

Hunk moves until they’re facing each other fully, setting down his mess on a laid out towel with a clank. Now Hunk’s staring him down worryingly. It’s gentle, but piercing all the same. Like he’s a page of a book he’s trying to read. It made him feel oddly transparent.

“What—what kind of fight? How distressed, is he—”

“Lance is fine.” he says quickly, noticing that Hunk is looking past him down the hall, “It wasn’t that bad,” he lies, “it just seemed out of place for him. He’s in his room, and I don’t think he’d want to be bothered.” 

Hunk is still looking down the hall for another few seconds before he fixes his gaze back on Keith, this time in vague apprehension, before looking down at his fingers.

“...I wasn’t actually going to say anything, but Lance is actually the main reason I was making the food.”

He sighs deeply, darts his eyes beyond Keith once more, and then brings them back down again. He opens his mouth just to close it, “Lance..he gets…”

He runs a hand through his disheveled hair with another sigh.

“Homesick. Sometimes. Of course we all do, but, it hits him and me especially hard; big families, y’know? Well, I told him I was going to make him something to eat, I was actually going to try and replicate a recipe his mom used to make, but I didn’t even set it to broil in the first place because the Altean oven doesn't have that setting, so I thought—”

Keith brought his arms up haltingly.

“Wait, you talked to him? What did you talk about?”

As far as Keith knew, nobody had tried to talk to Lance in the past two weeks except for strategic purposes, or for then they’re on the battlefield. To their credit, he wasn’t approachable at all when present, and when he wasn’t it was like he didn’t exist. There wasn’t a trace of him being anywhere besides lingering steam from the washroom. It wasn’t noticeable until you started thinking about it, which Keith had been doing plenty of. It wasn’t normal, _ especially _ for the Lance Keith recognized.

—And here was another person referencing Lance’s homesickness like it was a common fact. This time was more excusable—Hunk was Lance’s closest friend, after all—but it still miffed him. Whatever.

“I can’t tell you that, I...It’s personal. I don’t think he’d want me talking about it,” _ with you _ , he didn’t say, but Keith heard anyway. _ He doesn’t want me talking about it with you. _

“But it comes down to him being homesick.”

Keith stares questioningly into his flickering gaze.

“And that’s what you think is wrong with him?”

Keith has never seen Hunk so cautious and slow with his phrasing before. It makes him think that Hunk knows something he doesn’t, piquing his interest further.

“No.”

Keith doesn’t say anything; he feels like he’ll ruin it if he does.

Another beat.

The sink drips with a plip to the metal of the neglected pan.

“I think there’s something wrong with him.”

He catches Keith’s eyes and holds them.

“I think something happened. Something that he isn’t telling me but—” he breaks off, and starts back up again, “But I don’t know what it is. And he won’t tell _ me_.”

There’s a quiet emphasis on the ‘_me’_. To Keith, it seems like one of hurt.

“He looked scared of something this morning when we were talking. He was just sad at first—and I’ve seen a sad Lance before plenty, so I know how to deal with him fine.”

A look of trepidation passes over him.

“But then, out of nowhere, he just completely shut down. I don’t know why. All I did was recommend him to go to Allura to talk to her about his missing armor, and then—” he backtracked, catching his mistake, and moaned in frustration.

“I feel bad just telling you this. I shouldn’t be telling you this, right?” he didn’t sound sure himself.

Keith, for one, obviously didn’t want him to stop. It didn’t seem like he knew much more about what was wrong than Keith did, which was disappointing, but he did have a whole new perspective. What’s more is that he was starting to say something about missing armor and Allura, which was all news to him. Well, except for the bit about his gear, Keith remembered noticing that a long time ago, he just never thought it was worth noting. Apparently it was—of course it was, who just loses their armor on a regular supply run? Who would keep it from the rest of their team?

Well...Lance would. Apparently.

Ugh.

The point was he couldn't have Hunk keeping things from him, not when he was so close to talking, and especially not when Keith was on the brink of figuring out something big. He could _ feel _ it.

“I really think he’d be alright with it. I’m...worried about Lance too, and, well, I know how he is, not telling people things. If he’s not going to tell us, we need to figure it out for ourselves, so we can help him,” Keith surmised.

He was completely spitballing with the last part, but he seemed to hit right on a soft-spot because Hunk lets out a shuddered breath.

“Yeah...that makes sense. Yeah.”

On one hand, he knew how scummy it was to manipulate someone emotionally vulnerable. There was no excuse for what he was doing, no way to justify it, but he didn’t have any other choice. He _ had _to know.

If this worked in his favor, Hunk would forgive him later. He wanted more than anyone for Lance to be okay, so in a way, he wasn’t even lying. Sorta.

“Honestly, there are _ so _ many things that haven’t been normal about him for a long while, not just today. He doesn’t talk to me—doesn’t talk at all, really. He’s also not eating much, he never speaks during missions, he showers all of the time—like at least twice a day, which I know seems like something he’d do, but he’s not even using any of his skin-care stuff afterward, and he—” Hunk splays a hand out and presses each finger down as he goes down the list, but shakes it wildly when his words cut off “—And it’s all so random and I _ know _something happened. He wouldn’t act this way out of nowhere.”

He looked guilty.

“I didn’t go to him though. I thought leaving him and giving him space would help. The few times I asked him if he was okay he told me he was, and he doesn’t usually respond well to pushing, and I expected him to come to me.”

“He never did. Not even once. It’s like he was _ avoiding _ me, actually, and I just let him. For a long time I let him.”

He shakes his head.

“Until today.”

“We talked a couple hours ago, a little before the distress call. Since he hadn’t shown up for dinner yesterday, I wanted to make sure he ate something this morning. When I asked, his voice not only sounded scratchy, like he’s sick, but he also _ lied _ and said he’d eaten dinner, so I came in, and he looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. The lights were off and everything. Even though it was almost noon.”

Then he crosses his arms unsurely, and Keith realizes that Hunk _ really _can’t hold his hands still to save his life, always gesturing. It’s a trait Keith now understands he shares with Lance. Huh.

“He also had puffy eyes, so he’d been crying, and honestly I wasn’t even going to mention that either, but we talked it out and I thought it was going well, I thought I understood why he was upset, and I felt relieved because it meant he was just having an off week. Because I thought something _really _bad had happened. But everything just seemed normal.”

“I was trying to give him advice, I knew what he wanted to hear and what would help, so I told him to go see Allura about his missing armor. I thought that was pretty rational right? Like, yeah, Allura’s scary, but she’s reasonable; mostly, at least. I didn’t even expect him to go along with it—you know how he feels about her, he’d probably be embarrassed about losing his stuff and having to admit it,” He wasn't saying something in that sentence, but Keith didn’t push. He listened, because Hunk was saying a lot of stuff really fast.

“But when I told him he seemed so quiet and...sad, which was already a red flag, but then.”

Hunk’s sighs as he looks forward, a deep frown tugging his lips down.

“Then he freaked out. He started staring straight ahead, he wouldn’t say anything when I asked him, and then he—” Hunk gestured sharply to the side, “jumped up. Away from me, and he looked really, _ really _ scared. Like there was a monster in the room I couldn’t see.”

That reminded Keith a lot of like his conversation only a little bit ago, except that time _ he _ was definitely the monster. Lance was scared of _ him. _

It was unsettling to think about.

“And he was shivering.”

Hunk’s confusion and hurt and worry slowly morphs into a sad smile as he finally meets Keith’s gaze and keeps it again.

“I thought if I made him food, It’d at least make him feel at least a bit better. At the very least it would give me an opening to talk again, but the mission happened and it’s ruined.”

His voice cracks. He tries to cover it with a tired and weak huff.

“I just don’t know what to do. I’m really worried, Keith. Bottling things up isn't healthy, and what if it’s something really bad?”

The atmosphere changes, and Keith suddenly feels very nervous; as if that bad thing is standing right behind him, about to pounce.

It feels evil.

“What kind of bad are you thinking?” he asks mindfully.

Hunk expression looks similar to how Keith feels on the inside.

“_ Bad _ bad. I have never, _ ever _ really seen Lance act this way before, and I’ve known him for a pretty long time and seen him go through all sorts of ups and downs. Honestly, at first I was thinking he caught some space flu and that’s why he was avoiding people and looking so pale and sick,” a valid point Keith hadn’t thought of yet, but Hunk didn’t look relieved, “But Coran checked him over, right? If he was sick, Coran would’ve noticed and said something.”

Ah. That was true. Damnit. Coran might be wonky, but he also had a hidden wise side. If Lance was sick, he would be able to tell. Keith was certain.

“Yeah..you’re right. But…”

He sighed, pinching his nose bridge and mentally willing away his pounding ache.

“But what then?”

The taller Paladin shrugged morosely.

“I don’t know. Really, I don’t. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all there is.”

Quiznack. That didn’t tell him anything but reassure him he apparently _ wasn’t _ going crazy. Other people could see Lance’s outlandish behavior, but that still left him without any—

“—Oh! Wait, also—he’s still missing the armor I mentioned earlier at the space mall. I dunno if he actually talked to Allura,”—he did. Keith saw them when he passed by to get to the hangars—“but I’m really worried about what could happen. I don’t wanna force him—like I said earlier he doesn’t respond well to pressure—but anything could happen, and if he doesn’t have his bayard...he could get hurt, is what I’m saying, so I’m going to try and—”

“I could go.” Keith interrupts without second thought.

Hunk looks blank and confused, so Keith clears his throat.

“I could go to the mall for him, if that might help? Get his stuff so that he doesn't have to,”

Hunk brightened up instantly, eyes widening hugely and eyelashes brushing his cheeks.

“That’s a great idea, he—! Ohhh man, that would mean so much to him! You would do that?”

Keith flusters, taken aback by how quickly his teammate went from zero to one hundred, but manages to murmur something out.

“I mean sure.” he says lamely, feeling suddenly timid.

Hunk’s smile rises further, if that’s even possible, but his joyful face turns determined.

“If you want I could go with you,” he offers eagerly, clearly very desperate to help his best friend, but Keith shakes his head slightly with remorse.

“I don’t think that’s necessary. Red is faster, so I could be back sooner, and the longer a Lion is missing the longer we can’t form Voltron. One Lion should be enough. It’ll be fast.” 

He also didn’t want Hunk getting in his way, in the nicest way possible. Keith respected Hunk, but his skills would not match up well with how Keith pictured the situation to go. 

Like he said earlier, it could be dangerous. Keith didn’t know what kind of danger he would be working with, but whatever it was Keith felt confident he could take it on his own without getting anyone else involved. 

He remembered Shiro, so exhausted, and Pidge extremely drained. Getting Hunk involved would draw suspicion and attention that would stir up the whole team, which was already off-kilter. 

….He understands, though. If it were Shiro acting all strange, there wouldn’t be a force in the universe capable of keeping Keith away from figuring out what it was. He cared for Lance, of course he did, but similar to Hunk and Lance’s relationship, Shiro held a special place in Keith’s life.

“...If you say so. I guess I can wait a little while longer, as long as you tell me how it goes afterward.” Keith nods. He plans on staying true to his word, in that regard, “Make sure to check in with Allura before you leave, though.” Hunk only sounded a little dejected, but still had a smile on his face. Keith identified it as hope.

“I will. Thanks.”

Keith definitely feels like he needs to say more, but he already shifted his weight and started moving towards the door. He awkwardly does some wave-salute that makes him fully cringe once his face is blocked, but before he can leave Hunk pipes up.

“Hey Keith!”

Keith stops and turns.

“Uhh, thanks. For talking,” Hunk offers genuinely.

Keith’s necks heats up with embarrassment at the words of gratefulness. It makes him feel good though, in another way. He’s never really….talked this way before, with anyone besides Shiro. It was nice, _ real _, even if it was a bit uncomfortable.

“Erm, yeah, no problem.” he gives Hunk a small shy smile before actually leaving, sights straight ahead and resolve hardening.

“Oh, and be careful!” Hunk adds quickly, “Good luck!”

* * *

“And you would be back at the Castle within the next few varga?”

Keith inclines his head.

“That’s the plan.”

After making a quick detour to get down some pain killers for his headache, he went straight to Allura, just like Hunk requested, filling her in on his idea to get Lance’s gear himself.

So far she was...well, at least she didn't dismissively interrupt him. Her face held a slight frown the entire time, pondering.

“Your offer does make sense, and it would certainly be more time-convenient, however,” Allura’s gaze strickens.

“Lance needs to learn from his own mistakes. If others correct his errors, how is he to ever learn things himself? He is a Paladin, and it is important he learns to take responsibility for his actions and their costs.”

Shit. Keith nearly forgot how sensitive Allura was about Altean-related subjects. She was bound to be more insistent about Lance paying some sort of punishment for his actions when it related to her fallen planet.

Luckily, Keith had a plan.

“I’m trying to come from a place of being a good teammate. Lance and I aren’t exactly on friendly terms...so I thought that doing this for him would help improve our partnership.”

It wasn’t a...complete lie. Just like earlier with Hunk, he felt bad, but Allura was much more stubborn than Hunk. She needed good reasons to become fully convinced.

She looked off to the side with her brows creased.

“But I understand your logic, so I guess—”

“Actually, Keith,” she starts, pauses again to think, and then continues, “I understand your logic, and….I believe I see where you’re coming from. You bring a good point to the table—the bickering between the two of you can be...distracting. It is commendable that you are making an effort to reconcile your friendship.”

Keith stifles his oncoming scoff. She makes it sound like Keith is part of the problem when Lance starts it every _ single _time, but for now he needs to resist the urge to childishly point that out. 

“So, I suppose one exception under the pretenses of forming a closer bond between Paladins is an acceptable excuse. However, such behavior will not be tolerated again, and I plan on making sure Lance understands this. Perhaps you can talk to him as you return his gear? I believe it would be better received than if I tried.”

She looks sheepish, and Keith quirks his brow. That sounds...oddly specific. He guesses that her own interaction with Lance went just about as well as everyone else's.

Allura, as if she can read his mind, fills him in.

“He got rather upset when I ordered him to retrieve his own gear. Maybe more team bonding activities with myself also involved would be a good idea, but that is a topic for another time. For now,”

Her voice reaches a more serious tone as she elaborates. “Your task is simple. Locate the missing Blue Paladin armor and bayard, and be back as soon as possible. I will have Coran equip you with a tracking device to pinpoint the gear through its unique Altean tracing, and hopefully the errand will be over ‘without time’.”

Keith nods professionally, even with the peppered in attempted earth phrase.

“If you come across any trouble, retreat immediately, and do not engage. This is a very simple mission, and if it turns into more than that it would be better for us to face the issue as a group than be down a Lion and Paladin for an extended period of time. This is a zero-danger trip, and no more. Do you understand?”

Keith knows that that isn't a promise he can keep without certainty, but of course he nods anyway.

“Good. Now, let’s see what Coran can do.”

* * *

The ride is quiet.

It isn’t that thrilling of a discovery. Open, calm space is soundless, and completely unlike the roaring noise of battle. It’s still oddly unusual, though. Like he’s in some sort of twilight zone.

The pilot-seat below him felt extra cold as he stared forward, hands on the controls with nothing to do. They were going insanely, mind boggingly fast right now—faster than any machine on earth had ever achieved, as far as Keith knew—and felt felt nothing. They were whizzing through the passing stars and other space debris at such a speed that everything blurred into lines of multicolored lights and movement, and if Keith closed his eyes he could forget he was even piloting his Lion; which was just such a weird sensation of sensory detachment that it almost made him shudder.

There’s nothing but the gentle, almost inaudible hum of Red’s ‘engine’ (or whatever magic equivalent) purring lowly all around. Mentioned Lion also wasn’t doing anything to fill the silence, present in their bond, but not trying to communicate. Reasonable, since they weren’t in combat and that was when Red thrived the most, but it just added to the unreal mood.

Keith associated Red with fighting, and loudness, and adrenaline. The heat of the battle, the yelling and commands from his team, and the fiery bond between him and Red thriving in full force.

It made this ride of nothingness all the more surreal.

His mind wandered aimlessly in the lack of sound and substance.

He found himself wondering what he was going to find when he reached the mall in—now approaching 20 minutes.

Keith honestly had no clue. He felt like he should be anxious at that possible threat, but frankly he felt nothing but anticipation and honest excitement.

For all that he speculated, his theories weren’t strong. Really, he was just going off of strong gut instincts and a few strange interactions. He didn’t know what he expected to find besides the gear, and he didn't know how long he could be gone before Allura started to get impatient and hailed him back. 

The tracker Coran hooked him up with wasn’t very specific, according to the Altean himself. He’d told Keith that it would give him a good enough idea of the general radius, but not with pinpoint accuracy. He could possibly blame his curiosity and time-wasting on the inaccuracy of the equipment if it came down to it, but it hopefully wouldn’t be necessary.

Maybe _ none _ of this would be necessary. He didn’t doubt the likely possibility of him finding nothing but the armor and heading back with no new information.

That would be frustrating, but even _ that _ wouldn’t be for nothing. He could go to Lance with new purpose, try and do over their terrible conversation, be more understanding.

Unless he just didn’t want to talk to him at all. Which...would really suck. Because that meant...what? What did that mean?

It meant that they just wouldn’t talk, but they’d been doing that for a long time coming now. What made now different? Lance had been upset about plenty of other things Keith had turned the other cheek on, so why….

Why was he even doing this?

It was a question he’d asked himself frequently that never resulted in a true answer, but the silence gave him time to truly dwell for once.

Why _ was _he doing this?

At first he thought it was because nobody else was. Lance’s behavior was ruining their team chemistry, and it was annoying and unlike him in a way that got under his skin, but...

Hunk cared now. He clearly wasn’t going to let this slide without a fight, so really all Keith needed to do was let go of the steering wheel for other people closer to Lance to take control.

He should. It was better for everyone, Lance clearly didn’t want him anywhere near him.

But.

Keith...couldn’t do that. He just couldn’t.

He just felt like he needed to see this through, whatever that might mean. He couldn’t describe it better than that. It...was personal now, somehow. Keith felt like he owed it to Lance, maybe. Maybe what he’d told Allura hadn’t been a lie? Could he really just want to get closer to Lance?

Maybe.

Or maybe it had something to do with that look. The one that had gotten him practically invested from the start.

He could still conjure up the image, as strange and disturbing as it was when he saw it.

That felt closer to what it was, but he couldn’t put a pin on what that even meant.

He just looked scared. It wasn’t what Lance normally looked like. Was that it?

It didn’t feel like it.

God, this was confusing.

Keith felt Red automatically slowing down as they crossed the threshold between open space and the beginnings of a populated sector. The space mall would only be ten minutes away now—he must’ve gotten lost in thought.

He thought back to that day and what he remembered of it, but it was so uneventful and trivial that there wasn’t much to remember.

Keith had been reading something Altean he picked up somewhere around the Castle—about economics, or something—when Lance bulldozed his way in. He was babbling on about how he needed Keith to go with him and Hunk for a supply run at some mall, and Keith, in his inherent boredom from lack of action, accepted with a shrug.

He learned a few minutes later by reading in-between the lines of Lance’s talking that it was really less of a supply run and more of a way to get the Paladins out of the Castle so that Pidge could have time alone. 

Keith respected that, and even though _ he _ pointedly _ wasn’t _ making noise, he was willing to do almost anything to get out of the metal white walls of their spacecraft. It was getting cagey with all of them holed up in there with Galra activity at a lull, and daily training only ate up so much of the day.

A literal _ hour _ in, and _ quiznack _ he wished he’d just stayed in his room reading his article about ten-thousand-year-old outdated Altean economics. It was _ that _bad.

At first it was _ kinda _ amusing, even if he would never admit it. Lance really, _ really _sucked at flirting. The rejections were all hilarious to watch, and Lance always complained or made excuses which made it even funnier, but whatever humor Keith got from his failures dulled out after it just kept happening.

It was wearing him down, making him more frustrated than anything—especially when Keith saw something that looked like a katana with a cool leather and golden hilt, tried to check it out, but then _ instantly _got kicked out because of Lance harassing the gazelle-looking alien at the counter.

He wasn’t even _ sorry _after they left. He just told Keith that he already had ‘plenty of pointy things to play with at the Castle’. That and another few stores, hunger and irritation forming the beginning of what would later be a headache, was enough for him to want to leave.

The straw that broke the camel's back was when Lance just casually mentioned that he wasn’t even supposed to have _ come_. It might not have made a difference in his initial decision to join, but knowing that now in his tiredness and foot pain after an hour of enduring it had all been unnecessary was beyond irritating. 

Keith left, walked all the way back to the Castle, brushed past Shiro asking if everything was alright, sat down, and continued reading his Altean magazine. It got him to calm back down and drain his residual anger.

And _ perhaps _ it was petty, but he definitely felt a bit of smug happiness when he heard Hunk enter the Castle a little later, and without the higher drill of Lance’s voice. Ha. Even _ Hunk _was fed up with Lance’s antics. Figures.

That had been the last time Keith had seen Lance before the change. It only took half-an-hour at that mall between Keith leaving and when they’d bumped into each other for something bad to happen. 

Red eased into a slow stop before Keith began directing her down to the planet steadily, mindful of the other spacecrafts in the docking port.

A half-hour of Lance being alone before they found him. What could’ve happened in that short gap of time?

Red met the ground, shifting into a sit, and Keith felt the dip as her head lowered and mouth opened.

He was about to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHA! a proper cliffhanger for once! A few of you guessed that Keith was going to get to the planet first, and you were RIGHT! you can decide for yourselves if this is good or not, but either way, PLEASE COMMENT! a few of you commented on the previous chapter and I haven't gotten to you yet, but that's just because I was 1) busy and 2) wanted to give you all genuine appreciation and crafted replies. I will reply to you guys, just wait a minute lmao. I LOVE you all fr :pensive face:  
okok, bye now teehee :^)


	10. it's a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure how I feel about this, but here it is! hope you all like it :-)

Keith rolled up the sleeves of his jacket until the material was bunched up at his elbow, willing his body to cool itself down as he maneuvered his way through the throng.

He forgot just how hot the mall was from last time; he was _ already _starting to sweat, and he’d only been walking around for two minutes.

Just like last time, Allura only allowed him to bring his helmet and bayard, the latter of which he had stashed in a holster on his right hip—his knife was with him too, of course, but Allura didn’t have to know that. Supposedly, just like last time, the purpose of not wearing the entire bulk of his armor was to be less recognizable, but Keith didn’t see the point in a neutral zone, far away from the likely influence of Voltron.

On another occasion he might’ve pressed, trying to do his future uncomfortable self a favor, but he didn’t want to push Allura too much, afraid that she’d change her mind if they talked for too long.

He regretted his decision now, past him seeming to have forgotten just how unbearably roasting and humid the inside of the building was. 

Keith could handle heat. He’d lived in the middle of the desert for a year, _ and _ he was the Paladin of the Red Lion, guardian spirit of _ fire_.

What was different was that there were reptile folk _ everywhere, _packed like sardines and making the whole place just that much more stuffy. Keith could hardly take six steps forward without bumping into someone, and that was with his head up and alert.

It was impossible not to run into someone when his gaze was glued to the tracker Coran gave him, walking (or really wading) in the direction it was pointing him towards. He couldn’t really keep his eyes off it either, the current of the mall goers throwing him off course when he looked away for a second.

Keith didn’t like crowds on a good day, and he especially hated them right now.

The smell wasn’t pleasant either. All these bodies packed together with food stops selling different varieties of cooked bugs around every bend….

It was a good thing he’d taken those painkillers, or else the whole scene may have been a bit overwhelming. As it was he felt a little nauseated.

And that wasn’t even all.

He can’t help the underlying feeling of being watched.

Keith knows that he is literally in a busy, tightly packed mall and that he stands out drastically with his civilian clothing and human, un-lizard-like features, but the situation has nothing to do with it.

He honestly isn’t afraid. Keith knows there’s nothing to fear when he’s immersed in such a dense crowd—it would be idiotic for anyone to pull something with so many eyes watching—but the feeling stays and continues to be very off-putting as it does.

It’s not terribly disarming, just a small prickle on the back of his neck that makes him glance behind his back every once in a while. He could deal with it on its own, but on top of everything it’s just getting ridiculous, making him sweat for more reasons besides temperature.

Keith reminds himself to take deep breaths to keep himself from losing it and snapping. He needs to be cool-headed when he talks to the store clerks.

Keith’s eye twitches as a small child all but rams on his leg, choosing to turn his attention to the bleeping Altean-style tracker-pad. There’s a circled area a little ways ahead, bathing four storefronts in pulsing red on his screen.

The warned inaccuracy of the tracker gave him three possible buildings that the gear could be in, all clustered together on one stretch of the mall.

It should be annoying that he’d have to comb through four stores, but Keith found that he was grateful. A thought that had crossed his mind was the possibility of someone stealing and selling the Altean gear in some type of intergalactic black market, which would make this whole thing into a bigger deal than Keith thought it needed to be. 

In that case, he would have no other choice than to get the team involved, and that gave Lance time to figure out a way to dissuade them from even worrying about it.

Even without the worry of said items not being at the mall, he was still on the clock. Allura never specified a timeframe he had to follow, but she didn’t strike Keith as a patient person.

So time was of the essence.

Keith continued to squeeze himself through the hoard of aliens until finally, _ finally _he got the targeted block in his sights. Keith put away the tracker and dodged his way through the remainder of the distance, not stopping if he maybe accidentally pushed one or two reptilian folk on the way.

He was close enough now to actually see the exterior design of the storefronts, only to note that they were all pretty average-looking. Keith didn’t know why he seemed to have been expecting something incriminating. They were in a public mall, he wasn’t going to find a butcher shop or haunted house esque building just sitting amidst it all.

In fact, the four stores all looked painfully normal, almost to the bland variety. They lacked a certain liveliness that most of the colorfully decorated shops had, and when Keith looked through one of their windows he found that there really weren’t many customers.

Hmm.

He guessed there was no particular order of which store he picked, so he moved to check out the closest one when he realized moments later that it was closed, lights all off except for something dim coming from a backroom.

Keith skipped it for now, taking strides over to the next one that opened with twin automatic doors.

Stepping through the threshold brought forth a quick and welcoming—almost earthlike—chime, and the mantis-like creature at the front desk perked up from where she was typing. Keith thought that she almost looked Olkarian, but with thinner and more insect-like features.

“Ah, hello there! Welcome to _ Trocken-Ropa, _can I assist you?” she asked, speaking in common-tongue in a frail but kind voice. It also looked like she was smiling—or..trying to. The creases around her mouth raised, if that meant anything.

“Hello...ma'am,” he hoped he was getting that right, “Does this building have any sort of, uh, lost and found? I lost something a few weeks ago, and I wanted to see if it was still here.” Keith asked, in exactly the way Allura coached him to.

_ “What they do not know will not hurt them. They are more likely to comply if they feel that they specifically are being targeted, instead of being one suspect in a pool of others.” _

“....Lost and found?” she pondered, a polite tilt to her head. “Something that is lost that you found?” she looked innocently bewildered, “Why are you here, if you’ve found it….?”

“Oh, um, no—sorry, it _ hasn’t _been found. Do you have somewhere that you keep things that people left here?” Keith explained. She still didn’t seem to get it, squinting and leaning forward, before understanding slowly took her expression.

“O-Oh! Yes, we do have something like that. But…” she reached under the table and came back up with a box in her twiggy arms that she set on her legs, “we do have a strict policy; you have to, hah, know what you’re looking for and tell me! Or else people would just steal it..and...well...we can’t have that.” she smiled sweetly, tilting the box a little toward herself protectively. Keith guessed that was fair.

“Now...what is it that you lost? And...when?” 

The lady spoke in intervals, like she needs to breathe after every couple of words, but Keith complied all the same.

“A helmet. And a,” he can’t say bayard, she won’t know what that is— ”A uh...pointy handle thing. Both white and blue. Lost about two we—movements, ago.”

She looked down into the box, a frown pulling her lip creases down as her eyebrows knit together.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t have anything like that here,” she answered, but still looked concerned, staring off into space beside Keith, “...two movements..” she mumbled quietly.

Keith bristled.

“Yes, two movements.” he says, trying not to sound eager, but failing. “Did something happen two movements ago? Here?” 

His question, which was admittedly a little bit loud, shakes the mantis out of her stupor, and she looks at him with something unreadable—but Keith doesn’t think she’s smiling anymore.

“I...no, not _ here_.” she says, sounding a little troubled.

He knows that she could be talking about literally anything that happened around two weeks ago, but Keith can’t help the hope, as premature as it is, that sparks in him.

“What do you mean? Where, then? What happened?” he demands, leaning forward.

If she’s threatened or frightened by Keith’s enthusiasm, she doesn’t show it. In fact, she looks like she’s getting lost in thought again, thinking and mumbling to herself softly.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to say…”

Keith feels an outburst rising to the surface before quickly reeling it back in. He wasn’t getting anywhere with an old lady by yelling, and she didn’t seem unwilling, just unsure. He could work with unsure.

“I..I _ need _ to know,” his hands clench around the countertop edge, _ “Please_.”

He hardly has to fake his desperation.

Her worried eyes catch Keith’s own, and a wave of sympathy and pity passes through them. She sighs quietly.

“Okay...give me, a moment.” she stands, body struggling with the effort, and meanders over to a room in the back, closing the door behind her.

Keith leans back and takes his weight off the counter, a little embarrassed that he’d acted out so much. He regains his composure as he tasks himself with taking in the room surrounding him.

The store is clearly based around clothing—in one way or another—but Keith can’t decide if they just sell fabric or wash it as well. There are clothes racks positioned all about, but also weird...machines? They sorta remind Keith of dryers, but with giant tube-shafts over them. Keith can’t come up with a purpose for the machines though, so he just marks them off as another strange thing based around an alien culture that he doesn’t have enough time or interest to learn about.

He thinks back to the clerk as he restlessly taps his forearm, arms crossed.

She seemed nice. Definitely not intimidating in the slightest, probably not Lance’s attacker. He wouldn’t rule the mantis off just yet for sure, but he didn’t feel like she could actually do any harm to his fellow Paladin, not directly, at least.

Plus, now that he thought of it, Lance had definitely been choked and...well, she didn’t actually have _ hands_. Only long, grippy appendages—from what Keith had seen—and the marks on Lance’s neck were _ huge_.

So not her.

Keith taps his foot on the floor.

In the back of his head, Keith wonders if the mantis lady was comfortable with the majority of the mall’s fast food being cooked bugs. He thought better against bringing it up, though. Might be a sensitive topic.

More moments pass, and Keith feels his impatience flaring further, making him want to just barge into the room himself. She wouldn’t just disappear and never come back, hoping that Keith would give up and leave, would she? Maybe he _ had _scared her after all.

However, he never got the chance to decide to act on the idea or not (probably for the better), because the door opened after not too long, two aliens walking through.

The first was the store clerk from before, looking concerned with her lips pursed tightly, and the other was some sort of beetle-like humanoid. 

Immediately, despite knowing nothing of either species, Keith could tell that he was younger than she was. The gate of his two-legged walk was sure-footed and strong, and he showed no sign of old age, alien or otherwise. If Keith had to guess, he seemed middle-aged. Not old, but not young either.

Said alien sauntered all the way up to the counter, keeping his narrowed eyes locked on Keith distrustfully.

He pulled out the store clerk’s chair for her as she promptly sat down, choosing instead to set his elbows on the counter-top and stand. Keith squared his shoulders.

“What do you want?” he growled lowly (also in common tongue), keeping his height and posture tall. Keith thought it was supposed to be intimidating, but he only leaned in closer, brushing the intimidating front aside.

“Who are you, the manager?” Keith didn’t mean to sound rude initially but also didn’t entirely regret the slight bite.

The beetle didn’t look pleased with his redirection, tsking, but answered regardless.

“M’ Tertem,” he grumbled in a gravely tone. “Owner and man’ger of _ Trocken-Ropa_, fabric debreanator store. N’ I suggest that ‘nless you’re here fer’ business, you take your comp’ny elsewhere.”

Keith ignored the unusual word and noted the threat.

This guy, he didn’t trust.

“I want you to tell me about what happened two movements ago,” Keith inclined his head to regard the mantis alien, “What she said makes me believe that you might know something about it.”

The beetle, Tertem, apparently, didn’t seem miffed or angry at the clerk for revealing something he clearly didn’t want to divulge; just bluntly amused.

“Maybe,” he chuckled speculatively, “But why would I be telln’ a nosy kid like yourself?”

Keith supposed that he probably didn’t look very scary to this alien, but the comment still rubbed him in _ just _ the wrong way. He tightened his fist.

Allura told him that he couldn’t use force. That was fine; he didn’t need force to get the message through.

“Well, it’s up to you.”

Keith ignored the beetle’s behavior in favor of the complacent, slightly self-satisfied grin that tugged up his lips.

“But I’d be treating a Paladin of Voltron with more respect.”

Tertem drew back, and the clerk beside him stiffened, glancing up at her superior in apprehension.

“Yer bluffn’.” he retorted, looking Keith up and down, but sounded pointedly unsure.

Keith shrugged and proceeded to unsheathe his bayard—activating it in a flash of red light—and held the weapon out not-committedly to the side.

The confident and condescending air Tertem had radiating off of him disappeared that very instant as his eyes widened, arms shooting up in a universal plea for surrender.

The mantis paled next to him, looking a bit faint, and latched onto her boss’s side in terror.

Keith would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it, just a little.

The details of Voltron weren’t known to every species across the universe, leading to many features or aspects being unidentifiable. The concept though, however shallowly explored, was consistent throughout nearly every culture and planet. 

Whether it be a prophecy of a guarantee for freedom and salvation passed on for generations or a mere children’s story, Keith grasped that there were few who hadn’t at least heard of their movement. It was why Allura cleared him to bring his helmet and bayard, but not his full gear. They weren’t recognizable, and wouldn’t draw any special attention.

But bayards, when activated, were special and incomparable to any other technology that Keith had ever seen on any planet. They were as good of proof as any that he was a part of Voltron without having to go through the efforts of proving himself to Tertem.

But then again, Voltron-based or not, he guessed that any weapon phasing from thin air would be more than enough to persuade Tertem into taking him seriously.

Satisfied, he flicked his longsword away and tucked his bayard back into its sheath, keeping his hand resting casually over the hilt.

“I am on a bit of a time crunch, though. I recommend you talk fast.” 

Tertem’s arms lowered as his alarm simmered down to bitter unease once he realized Keith wasn’t going to stab him on the spot, and the clerk shakily let go. 

Once he accepted his new position, Tertem sent Keith a small trepidatious glare as his arms crossed over themselves, managing to look like he wasn't being indirectly threatened by a sword. 

There were traces of sweat glowing on his forehead as he stared with still slightly wide eyes at Keith, before clearing his throat nervously.

“Hrmph’—Well...bout’ two weeks ago, little past noon, we heard some commotion through the walls right next ta’ us. Even ‘bove all the outside chatter.” he shrugged haughtily, “Thought nothn’ of it. Wouldn’t be the weirdest thing ta’ ever happen in this mall, that’s fer sure.”

The more his nervousness increased, the more he seemed to try and hide it. Keith watched him force his posture into a relaxed one.

“It kept on though. Wouldn’t stop for dobash’s. Wasn’t that loud—thick walls made sure a’ that—but boy was it _ shrill _ as anything.”

Keith frowned. It was the most he let himself do.

“Did you report it to mall security?”

Tertem sneered defensively.

“In these parts, sticking yer noses’ in other people’s business is a bad idea. Place might look innocent, but no neutral zone is free from sketchy folks. N’ I got people I need ta’ keep safe.”

The hand that hovered above his bayard twitched. 

So, no. He didn’t report it. He didn’t do _ anything_.

Keith felt anger rise within him, but did his best not to show it. ‘Shrill’ sounded a lot like—his hands tightened to fists—and he just _ ignored _ it. Lan- _ someone_, someone was getting _ hurt_, and he just turned the other goddamn cheek.

Fucking_ coward_.

Tertem continued through Keith’s disgust, trying to skim past that part quickly, as if he’d picked up on Keith’s disdain.

“—But it was starting to turn heads. Cust’mers with better hearing picked it up, even though it was pretty dulled everywhere but the back room. Considered checking it out, but a little later it stopped. Not completely, but people stopped lookin’ all around.”

Not...completely? What the _ hell _did that mean?

Keith’s stomach churned unpleasantly, hope now less incentivizing.

“‘While later, and hoards of people were flockn’ there, coming out with handfuls a’ junk. It got closed real quick after that when authorities took control, and now a’ course the place is shut down.” he said, clearly trying to wrap it up as quickly as possible, but once he saw the look in Keith’s eyes managed to babble out a little more.

“I found out later from a friend that the store was looted. No details but that it was apparently some employee neglecting their work and getting it off in the back.” he said, chuckling dryly, but Keith scoffed. If this was actually related to Lance, then he knew that what Tertem heard was a wild rumor conceived by the public. Ridiculous.

What also stuck out to him was that there had been a _ looting_. Lance...hadn’t mentioned a looting, not even sparingly. Of course this didn’t put Keith off too much since Lance had clearly left a _ lot _out of his story, but he noted it for later.

“That’s all there is?” Keith challenged grimly with a lace of a threat.

“S’ all I know.” he shrugged, shoulders hunched guardedly, although still with a quiet menace. “Point is, _ Paladin_, m’ not your guy. We don’t want n’ything to do with whatever it is ya’ lookn’ for.” he dared, but with a fearful tint to his words that Keith easily picked up on. His bravery was a shoddy mask.

Through this Keith saw the dismissal for what it was, but refused to leave in its wake. He didn’t want to blindly trust Tertem’s rendition, but it didn’t seem like a bald-faced lie, and Keith didn’t think he’d be able to get more out of the shop owner anyway. Not without going against Allura’s commands.

Tertem seemed to take Keith’s stoniness for suspicion.

“And I have n’ alibi. Satri here was clocked in when it happened, she’ll tell ya’.”

The mantis—Satri, apparently—nodded honestly, albeit slowly; surprised to be mentioned back into the conversation.

“Yes dear, and I heard it, too. Very...strange, it was. Troubling.”

She looked apologetic and, to Keith’s disappointment, earnest. 

“But I hope that you find what you lost, _ pállre. _And I hope you manage, to stay safe. Be careful now,” she brightened kindly. “and good luck...!”

Keith wanted to stick around and ask Satri more questions to get her full story, but he was noticing a small line of annoyed customers forming behind him, and he realized at least a little bit of the two’s rush must be based on trying to get Keith away so that they didn’t lose customers.

He supposed he could always come back later if he really needed to. Besides, now he did have the barest scrap of an idea of what he was dealing with (assuming Tertem was telling the truth). It was something, at least.

“Thank you for your time.” he deadpanned, internally sighing.

With great hesitance, Keith waved goodbye with a tight smile (entirely directed at Satri), making his way out of the fabric shop and back into the populated stretch of the mall, only to instantly be assaulted by the heat of the crowd’s humidity. His shoulders sagged, a groan sounding in the back of his throat.

All of that for...almost nothing. 

Well, okay, not _ nothing_. Keith had more of a lead now, but the new information he’d gathered only set him up with dead ends.

And evidently, in the time it’d taken Keith to inspect the clothing store, the shop beside it the two bug-people had mentioned _hadn’t _magically opened. 

He knew what he was looking for—the armor, bayard, _ and _ information—had to be in there. As much as he didn’t like the idea of what Tertem and Satri described being related to Lance, he had a feeling that it was. Too many things matched up for it to be a coincidence, and although he _ could _check out the other stores, a part of him knew they would be dead-ends.

He needed entry to that shop, but he’d been strictly forbidden by Allura to cause trouble, and Keith felt that breaking into private property fell into the ‘trouble’ category—even if he didn’t think he’d get caught. It was tempting, especially considering how much destruction Voltron caused on the daily, but damage brought forth by Keith alone was different than the damage caused by Voltron.

Besides, he’d taken enough time as it was. He’d already spent—he checked his holo phone—..._ quiznack_! Forty-five minutes?!

Keith was running low on time. He couldn’t waste it standing around thinking, he needed to _ do _ something, and do it _ fast_.

He paced over to the darkened, closed store (apparently called ‘ZaZarks Tubes and Roots’) and pressed his face up to the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes to block the reflection.

The room was as black as it was before, but this time Keith put more attention to the dim glow in the back. It was so faint it could very well be the gleam of a lamp left on by accident, or even a television screen.

It was still something though. And right now, something was all Keith could ask for.

He knocked on the glass door—one with a hinge and no automated motion sensor—watching intently for any change. When there was none, he knocked again, twice in quick succession. And again. And now he might’ve been hitting the door a little too hard, because he could see Reptilian's eyes on his back and in his peripherals but—there!

A shadow on the wall cast by the dim light shifted back and away, such a small movement that he could have easily missed it just by blinking.

His fist tapped upon the door impatiently once more, but whoever (or whatever) had moved decided that it didn’t want itself known.

Keith scowled, forcefully restraining his fist from pounding so hard that he cracked the glass, and then had a new idea.

“I am the Red Paladin of Voltron,” he yelled through his teeth, trying to sound authoritative and commanding while at the same time not drawing further attention to himself from the crowd. “Open the door, or else I'll use force.” 

It was a bluff, but of course the creature on the other side of the glass didn’t know that.

Even after his demand, there was still nothing, and Keith was literally _ seconds _from doing something he might regret, hands itching to break something.

“You won’t be harmed, I only want to talk,” he informally vowed as an afterthought, hoping that it would ease away this person’s self-preservation instincts. 

He wondered if these mall shops had back doors or emergency exits. For the good of Keith’s situation, he hoped that they didn't, even if it was a very major safety hazard. If the creature slipped out at the first sign of trouble, Keith was screwed.

Ideas for possible negotiations danced on the tip of his tongue when the silhouette moved again, the figure very reluctantly making itself known as it finally started inching closer.

“A-Ah, uhm, sorry, I’m coming to the door now…” it said, voice a tad stuffy and _ very_ nervous.

It _ was _a person, bipedal, and Keith could see the reflection of the mall's light caught in their reptilian eyes, tail straight out behind them.

Once they got close to the entrance and fully under the warm glow of the mall, Keith could see their features a little better than just a shapeless form. They looked just like the majority of the mall-goers: leaning on the shorter side with a tan-brown color decorating their scales, anatomy like a bipedal humanoid bearded dragon, and looking to Keith like a male. 

He also had a noticeable hunch to his posture as he meekly fumbled with his keys, only a few feet away from the door now. The alien seemed to find the key he was looking for, and he refused to meet Keith’s eyes as he fiddled with the lock.

Keith doesn’t let his guard down for a second at the unthreatening appearance. He isn’t stupid; he understands that, tactically, regarding a person that’s small and timid as anything different than a dangerous threat could be the difference between life and death. 

Pidge was practically living proof of this. Keith lost count of how many times an enemy had let down their guard upon seeing the Green Paladin, right before having their asses handed to them. 

For all he knew, it could be a ploy meant to ease Keith into a false sense of security. The other Paladins might call him untrusting or overly cautious, (in some circumstances, at least) but it had always served him well in the past. Besides, in this specific sense, he didn’t feel like he was overreacting at all.

Whatever had happened to Lance hadn’t been good, and it could have possibly happened _ right _here, in this building. 

Keith wasn’t necessarily blaming the Blue Paladin. Lance wasn’t a complete idiot—he wouldn’t willingly walk into a trap—but if the enemy looked the way the alien before him did, there was no way he’d see it coming. He was overly trusting and careless, in every sense of the words.

And from what Keith could tell, he’d paid for it.

Keith was here to find out how much, after all.

The second he entered the dark cast of the room, all guarantees of safety were off, the advantage of a crowd full of witnesses gone. Keith firmly let this fact become grounded in his head.

Once they got the key out, the reptile quickly scrambled a few feet backward, the claws of his feet making a soft scraping noise as they scratched against the tile floor.

“Heh..ah, yeah, sorry about that, uh..” he floundered for a word to address him, “Red Paladin?”

“It’s fine.” Keith enunciated bitterly, willing his frustration away. It wouldn’t help him right now.

“Right. Okay, uhh,” he smiled, awkwardly and forced, “Would you...come with me to the backroom? I would turn on all the lights, but I don’t want anyone to think we’re open. I..Is that alright?”

“Sure.” Keith agreed carefully. As he was, he had two separate weapons on him. One that was visible, and one—his knife—that was hidden. He was confident with his close-combat abilities, so he was confident being led into a tighter space.

The short alien walked them over to the back of the store, leaving the shocking brightness and warmth of the outside mall behind as they approached the weaker light of the back room.

The first thing Keith consciously noticed when he entered the short hallway was the temperature change. It was drastic and admittedly nice in comparison to the mall’s burning heat, cooling his sweat and doing some of his discomforts away.

They took a left into the only room in the hall—besides a bathroom to the right—and stepped through into a small room that was in clear disarray, with boxes and various items spread all over the place, a tiny lamp being the only source of light the space had to offer.

Nothing was starkly disturbing or off about the room. In fact, besides the inherent lack of heat, it was pretty ordinary. There was a couch on the right wall, a desk, and articles of clothing laid in piles all about. It had the atmosphere of a small office room.

The reptilian hurried on ahead of Keith to flick on a lightswitch, painting the room a warmer and more clear shade and making Keith blink a few times to adjust his eyes.

At the new clarity, Keith turned his studying gaze back towards the person before him in order to scan him further.

Keith was right before; he did look similar to most of the other shoppers with his monochromatic light brown colored scales. He also wore a collared orange shirt with a small, embroidered logo in the top right corner, and a belt holding up baggy, tan-colored pants. Along with the outfit was a nametag, pinned right next to the logo.

Keith read the name written on it that his translator provided.

‘Lenin’.

“Now then,” Lenin put his full, polite attention towards Keith, who in turn met his gaze. “Could you explain to me what brought a...Paladin of Voltron, _ here _ of all places?”

‘_Where do I even start?’ _ Keith pondered the best way to begin the conversation, which subjects to tackle first. The person in front of him potentially had answers to the questions that he had buzzing around in his head for _ weeks. _

“I need you to tell me what you know about what happened in this building, about two movements ago,” he decided, before adding. “Also, if you have any armor that was left here around the same timeframe.”

Lenin looked slightly surprised, and then immediately crestfallen.

“You mean the looting? You...wanna know about that, right?”

Keith nodded resolutely.

“As many details as you can give would be nice, yes.”

The alien hummed in comprehension, giving his own curt nod, before turning off to the side.

“Well first off, I think I might have what you're looking for. Right over here…” he waddled over to the side, sifting through one of the many boxes and pulling something out.

Once he turned to face Keith, he held none other than Lance’s missing helmet and bayard, barely even managing to carry them both in his arms.

“These are what you’re talking about, right? They were left around the time you mentioned, the same day of the looting. We kept them here because..uh...you know. Thought that they’d be worth some GAC. If you’d have come a few days later, you might’ve missed em’.” he passed them over to Keith who barely refrained from snatching them quickly in turn, relief very short-lived. He had what Allura wanted. Now he just needed this alien to give him what _ he _wanted. 

“And, about the raid…” he sighed, shoulders sagging and tail hooking limply around his leg. “Well, there’s not much to say that people don’t already know. It wasn’t a complicated situation. Especially nothing a,” he cleared his throat and looked anxiously up at Keith “...Paladin, would be interested in.”

Keith couldn’t think of a way to respond, but Lenin didn’t make him.

“Are you sure that’s what you’re talking about?” he inquired.

Keith paused, because he really _ wasn’t _ sure. He was going off of what Tertem and Satri said, and he was beginning to worry that he was chasing a story that in no way even related to Lance—but it _ had _to. Somehow, in some way, it had to. Lance’s missing belongings were left right here, and even if he had to make this random alien shop owner relive the unfortunate ransacking of his store, Keith was going to learn as much about it as he could. 

“Yes.” he said, with more certainty than he felt.

Lenin seemed disappointed with Keith’s answer, whether it be because it was a hard subject or something more personally secretive, he didn’t know.

“Alright, then I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know. I’m an open book.” for all of his reluctance, Lenin sure did look alright with sharing, even if he wore a sort of sad smile.

“Describe a summary of the looting,” Keith requested, cutting straight to the point. “And what led up to it.”

Lenin’s eyebrows (or whatever reptile equivalent) raised, and he lightly shook his head.

“Oh, I wasn’t there when it happened. I got everything I know from my brother, who...also wasn’t there.” he explained apologetically.

Keith was about to call bull on the alien’s attempt at deflection, but Lenin hurriedly jumped back in again.

“But what I heard was that it was an average day, a friend of my brother was watching the shop, not many people in at all. Normal day.”

Keith stilled himself, winding down and electing to listen.

“He told me that his friend apparently skipped work to, uh, _ make love, _with a customer, and don’t get all grossed out or anything, but…” he gestured awkwardly to the couch, “I wouldn’t sit there, if I were you.”

Keith twitched slightly at the implication, eyes flicking briefly over to the stained couch in disgust, but also in minor disturbance. When Tertem mentioned the same thing earlier, Keith was sure it had been a rumor. 

“How do you know for sure that that’s what happened?” Keith asked doubtfully. Lenin huffed, and not without some humor.

“It really wasn’t very difficult to tell. I’m assuming that you don’t want to know the particulars, but, uh, the friend didn’t do much to clean up. Don’t worry though! I’ve been wiping everything down since I got here. I’ll put the cushions through the wash next.” Lenin described, face flushing slightly in embarrassment. Keith was too confused to feel any secondhand embarrassment. That didn’t make any sense. 

“So yeah, without anyone watching, the place was ransacked. There was almost nothing left when mall security came and forced everyone away. They called my brother after that, to fill him in—you can imagine that he wasn’t happy to hear the news.”

Keith continued to pay close attention to what Lenin was saying, but couldn’t let go of what made sense, or rather what didn’t. Everything fit together fine, Tertem and Lenin’s stories connected and vindicated one another, but the part with the friend—it ruined it. Keith couldn’t see where Lance entered the picture

Lenin continued speaking, now with a terse grin as he stared forward.

“These past few weeks have been tough. GAC is real tight, funds are low, and we won’t be able to open up the shop in a long while. Maybe never.” he let out a breath of air very slowly, before seeming to forcefully perk up.

“But hey, you didn’t come here to hear about my family’s financial situation, yeah? I’m not quite sure why you did come, unless..” he broke off, shooting Keith a calculating and expectant look.

Keith didn’t let the hope that Voltron was here to save this small family from their rough patch sink in too deep. It would be rude to give him false hope.

“I think what I came here to know about was this friend of your brothers. What do you know about them?”

Lenin looked dejected, wilting a bit, but didn’t get hung up on it for long. He started again, wistfully.

“Oh, not much. Just her name; Tagla. She’s very tall and quiet. Reserved.”

Something about the words Lenin spoke rung a bell somewhere in the back of Keith’s mind. With it came the start of something churning in his gut.

Unease.

“She was fired, of course. Not that it was direct or anything; she left sometime during all of the raucous and never came back. She wouldn’t answer any of my brother's calls or messages either, blocking him everywhere she could and cutting him off completely. Didn’t even bring her stuff with her.”

“Her stuff?” Keith cut in.

Something about this wasn’t right.

“Ah...right. I told you that we run a small, family business? Well, she…” Lenin looked thoughtful for just a moment, when all of his momentum suddenly came to a screeching halt, and along with it went his smile. His expression turned quickly distraught, and he stared at Keith in a way that was almost pleading.

“....She didn’t do anything _ bad _right?” he said slowly. “I mean, of course she was irresponsible and selfish, but we all just assumed she felt guilty and couldn’t face any of us. And-Oh…” he broke off again, thinking, but his face didn’t lose any of its distress as he seemed to mentally evaluate something.

The gears in Keith’s own mind were turning in more and more worry at the previously zestful reptile’s alarm. He didn’t have a distinct answer, he didn’t _ know _ if she’d done anything bad, but he’d be lying if he told Lenin that Keith thought his friend was innocent. There was something _ wrong _here. He still couldn’t see where Lance would fit.

“I’m not sure yet, but it seems to me that she…” Keith searched for words, but came back flat. That she _ what? _

Lance had said specifically that the person he fought with was a girl, and he’d been terribly ashamed by it. He and Pidge had boiled that down to being embarrassed about losing a fight, but maybe they’d missed the mark. Maybe...

Things were connecting. Handfuls of puzzle pieces were finally fitting themselves together, but Keith refused to look at the picture they were suggesting. 

“I want to find her.” he drawled. It was the only definitive conclusion his brain could conjure, the only concept he could grasp.

Yes. Keith was going to find her. He swore this to himself. He could….figure the rest out later.

As shaken up and disturbed as Keith was starting to feel, Lenin was somehow looking a whole lot worse for wear. He was a wreck, face twisting into a look of slowly increasing dread and horror.

“She said that she didn’t, we thought for sure—s-she was so _ nice._..oh _ mellera_.”

He faced Keith once more, scared and _ apologetic _in a way that made Keith’s entire stomach flip nauseatingly.

Lenin didn't give Keith time to ask his questions, already opening his mouth again.

“Tagla is Salamandrin. She...she told my brother that she—he believed her..we all did, and,” Lenin shook his head, still fighting through some sort of internal conflict, seeming to connect some of his own dots.

“She didn’t even ask to _ stay_. But my brother..how could we have _ known _?—” 

“I don’t understand what you’re saying!” Keith all but shouted. He quickly schooled himself when Lenin just looked even more terrified, “...Please, start from the beginning.”

Lenin still looked awfully frantic and unsure, but Keith’s volume definitely helped remove him from his panic. He took a deep, weak breath, and words started pouring out.

“This store is a family business, passed down. It’s a tradition to carry the role, and my brother was the oldest so the ownership went to him.” he started easily, as if he’d spoken those very words many times before.

“Neither he nor I actually wanted to keep it, but it’s been a ZeZark owned establishment for generations, so it was expected of us to uphold the tradition. My brother—his name is Bernis—he’s always been into the humanitarian topic, so when he wasn’t fulfilling his family responsibilities, he was helping stock food and resources for people who need it. He’s...a really good, giving guy. Maybe a little...too giving for his own good.” Lenin’s lips twitched up, as if just the image of his brother brought up fond reminiscence.

“I occasionally helped him out, but I was busy with my own life and affairs. I’m usually not even around, but I visited the area when I heard about all of this going down, to be there for him, you know? He deserves that much—but now I’m getting off topic, aren’t I?” he put his hands together firmly, as if to center himself. His expression turned darker.

“Frankly, I wasn’t very involved in his doings, so I can’t tell you as much as I'd like, but several phoeb’s ago he told me over the phone that he found a girl who..really needed help,'' Lenin said, his tone the picture of regret.

“He told me that she’d been cast out by her family after being abused by her mother for most of her life. She didn’t have money or necessities, and no home or shelter would take her, and no job would hire her, all because of her being part Salamadrin. So my brother did.”

“What’s wrong with being Salamadrin?” Keith asked quietly. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t interrupt, that he’d listen and focus on the words and not the terrible indentations popping up, but he had to know this to better understand.

“It’s all part of this system’s history. This planet is the supposed neutral zone between planets Salaar and Paloma, although truly it is anything but. I’ll try not to get terribly political, but for eons Salamandrin’s had the entire population of Pogonan people enslaved. It took us a lot of time to get where we are, but really, it still isn’t enough. There is always tension between us, and although this zone is defined as an equal ground, prejudice on both sides always remains.” he answered easily, almost like he preferred sticking to that topic rather than the one he was on now. Keith didn’t blame him.

“My brother strongly disdains and fights to break the stereotypes. It’s probably why he did what he did.” Keith can see his pride and disapproval clashing in the aliens' eyes, but he blinks it all away to carry on.

“From the moment Bernis took Tagla in, he allowed her to work in ZeZark’s to earn her stay, and even allowed her an amount of the profits she earned to keep. He gave her a roof, a bed, food, clothes—everything that she needed, and expected next to nothing in return.” his voice dropped to something more solid and stoic.

“I’ve met Tagla twice in total. She was always quiet and drawn back, maybe a bit odd, but...but we never thought anything bad of her. My brother always had nice things to say about her when he gave me updates over the phone. It went well for the longest while, even if we got fewer customers coming in when she was at the counter.” he said in a near defensive pitch, but it was far too unsure to reach such a depth.

“As I said, my brother was shocked and hurt when she left, but never actually angry. He’s too kind for that. He’s been worried sick about where she is, and along with the stress of the store being closed—It’s too much for him.”

Lenin gestured around him.

“The only reason that you found me here was because this was the room where she lived while in our company—that’s why it’s so much colder in here. Salamandrin people tend to prefer it that way.”

“It’s not much, but it’s better than where she was before, that’s for sure—and yet she didn’t take any of her stuff with her. I wanted to spare my brother the trouble of gathering it all together himself. He doesn’t need a reminder like that right now. What he needs is a break.”

He regarded Keith again and sighed; very tired and contrite.

“When you knocked—and I do apologize for my reluctance—but I was sure that you were another citizen trying to break through and rob the place all over again. I was ready to dial mall security when you spoke, which in itself was very startling. Hearing that there is a Paladin of Voltron at the door isn’t something that happens every day, after all.”

He was dancing around something, beating around the bush, and as much as Keith didn’t want to know, he _ needed _ to. Lenin had been working up to something, bolstering himself up through his entire speech, and it was time for them both to stop avoiding it.

“What are you trying to say?” Keith vaccinated, deceptively calm.

Lenin inclined his head. He had been expecting the question, but wasn’t prepared to give the answer. Keith knew that look well. He’d seen it on countless faces throughout his upbringing.

It never meant anything good.

“Well there were...rumors.” he faltered, and then breathed in. Keith breathed in. The room was still.

“Bernis told me that there was talk amongst other coworkers. Allegations of...sexual assault.”

Keith’s breath hitched, and he stopped comprehending everything all at once. The words were a finality. They were the crack of the judge’s gavel, the reflection of the falling guillotine.

“Burnis confronted her about them, but she denied them all. She seemed appalled at the very idea, and we just _ never _ thought for a moment that they could be correct. It wasn’t even an idea.” Keith heard the excuses, but didn’t understand them. He couldn’t understand anything but what was shrieking in his mind like a siren.

The hand-shaped bruise on Lance’s neck, the subtle limp, the daily showers, the fear, the shame, the hurt, the _ anger— _

That _ look _ on his face.

“_—_He never pushed. He said that it was a sensitive topic for her, that her mother used such things against her, and that it would bring up unruly memories_—_”

_ “I-I, uh, she grabbed my, my neck. N’ lifted me off the ground and, punched me,” _

“Please, Red Paladin...could you tell me why are you searching for her? Don’t tell me that she…”

_ “Don’t—don’t touch me!” _

Keith swatted away Lenin’s hand that had fearfully brushed Keith’s shoulder, blocking out the hurt and afraid alien in front of him who didn’t understand any better than Keith did.

“I...have to go.” Keith croaked, already turning and walking out the door. He could see Lenin following behind him, looking desperate and terrified and so _ sorry _ and it all was _ wrong_.

He made it to the door, very ready to leave and hightail it back to the Castle, but the devastated alien trailing behind him made him hesitate.

“Don’t wash the couch yet. Please just…” he stammered, knowing that he needed to say something to Lenin, who looked nearly as horrified and confused as he felt.

“...I’ll be back.”

Keith was out the door the next instant, incapable of staying another second to hear out Lenin’s anguished pleas, and all but shoved his way through the hoard of people.

He was already calling out to Red, reaching towards her as a lifeline, when he felt another layer of something being wrong through their bond.

A few meters later, when Red was finally in Keith’s sight, he realized what it was.

Standing right beside Red, ferocious and mighty as ever, was the Blue Lion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you guys thought that she’d be there when Keith checked out the store, but nope! She, aka cowardly piece of scum, dipped right away. That’s not really going to stop anyone from finding her in the long run of course, but she’s at least going to try and get out of it without getting caught.  
Also, I fixed up the first and second chapter! Nothing plot-related, just some sidenotes and grammar editing, but I don’t want to scare away any new people if you know what I’m saying :’))  
I’m planning on fixing up the first two Keith chapters as well because I’m just really unhappy with how I wrote him, but I didn’t want to prolong this chapter any more than I already have.  
((note that this is before the Voltron show, so the Paladins aren’t that easy to spot (unless you know what you’re looking for)  
PLEASE comment! I want to know how you felt about this chapter and where you think it’s going! I read every single comment and I need validation that I’m not wasting my time! Thank you for reading!!! <333


	11. windmill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to the last chapter was honestly breath-taking. I was completely blown away by the amount of your comments, and a few of you literally made me want to talk your comments and frame them.  
Last chapters unofficial extremely subjectively chosen, lovely comments go to swallowinfinity, cereal_whore, and Pine_Daddy. you guys fr really get me inspired to write thank you for taking time to make my damn day!!  
Also, Ok I KNOW some of you are about to scream at me in the comments, but you’re going to have to wait a little longer because it’s Pidge POV time! Yay! Aha...ha :)  
(Also notable and included in the tags, I use she/her pronouns for Pidge but still respect others headcanons of her being nb.)  
((ALSO!! I am so sorry that I haven't replied to some of your comments that were super sweet! I have a bad habit of just rereading comments and never getting around to responding because I'm dummy!! But I'll definitely try and be more active in the comment section, esp with summer coming :-)))  
Enough talking you can read now teehee :^)

Pidge set her tablet to the side as she shifted her position, trying to get blood flowing back into her legs by stretching them straight forward and reclining her back against the cushion. She’d been sitting cross-legged in her bed/makeshift work station for an hour—maybe more, and the tingling numb sensation that was steadily growing was getting too bothersome to ignore.

She righted a few of the loose note-crammed papers that she’d set precariously on her thigh, shuffling them into a semi-neat pile, and slid the tablet back onto her lap, picking up where she left off inside of the opened page of another Galra prison record site.

As far as Pidge knew, the information inside of it spanned back a few years, as a generalization; the site was fairly new. However, Pidge was finding that narrowing that generalization was remarkably more difficult than she anticipated. The whole thing was unlawfully unorganized and full of even more internal locks to decode.

She had to give it to the Galra for_ trying _ to keep her out of their systems—actually, wait no, no she did not. Fuck the Galra and their ridiculously overboard tech advisors to hell. That was better.

Pidge quickly ran into yet another information lock, this one seeming to protect a pocket of Galra surveillance statements, and shook her head to clear it before giving the advanced coding a closer look. 

The wall of numbers and letters that blanketed the screen were slowly melding themselves together over time, looking more like gibberish the longer she tried to look closer into them. Pidge grumbled to herself and tried to vigorously blink the strain away, an act that ultimately always proved to only irritate her eyes further. She sighed.

The tablet’s brightness was already on its lowest setting, and still her eyes squinted with the light, blinking long and hard trying to rid the uncomfortable and dull sting that had taken up residence inside of both eyes.

Usually, this level of discomfort and exhaustion meant break time, but she was on something of a roll right now, and could decidedly rest right after she decrypted and read this last file. Break time could wait, she could sleep when she was dead, yada yada.

Almost on cue, a knock came at her door.

“....Pidge? Can I come in?”

The voice was Shiro’s, as expected. Nobody else tended to visit her at this time of the day, albeit to try and give her a small share of breakfast that was destined to never be eaten.

She grumbled, just audible enough for Shiro to hear through the door, and he seemed to take it as clearance because a moment later the door was open, and he was slowly stepping through.

“You’ve been working for quite a while,” he said, treading carefully in the midst of past experiences.

Pidge nodded as she looked up, lifting her arms and stretching them straight up at the elbows, eliciting a slight pop noise that made Shiro cringe ever so slightly. He was never a huge fan of the sound of knuckle or any other bone-cracking, Pidge had noted, but he never voiced his disliking so Pidge didn’t feel the need to apologize.

She noticed that he had a cup of something in one hand as he got closer, and for a moment Pidge perked up, hoping it was coffee, only to deflate just a quickly when she realized it was just water, and was accompanied by a plate globbed with food goo. Yum.

Shiro noticed her disappointment, and spared a caustic smile.

“Sorry, but I don’t think that I can bring you any more caffeine in good conscience. You’ve…”

He gestured to the many empty mugs laid quite sporadically about the messy room.

“Already had your fill, it seems.”

Pidge pouted grumpily, but didn’t put forth a strong protest. She waited for Shiro to begin his inevitable nagging—

“...I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think you should try and get in some shut-eye before the next mission.” he said, regardful of Pidge’s reaction.

—and there it was. How predictable.

Pidge tilted her head to the side, looking away. She heard Shiro sigh.

“I’m serious. You’ve been at this for hours—you missed last night’s dinner, and I didn’t see you at breakfast either. The alarms could go off any second,” he hardened his jaw, “And I’m worried about you. You have to sleep, Pidge.”

She looked back at her tablet, just to have somewhere to put her eyes, and couldn’t help the irritation that seeped into her voice.

“I’ll sleep when I finish decoding this last firewall. I promise.”

Shiro eyed her in obvious disbelief.

“Pidge…”

“_What_?” she snapped, but lost her fire right after she realized how abrasive the words came off.

Shiro didn’t even look the slightest bit miffed by her reaction. He was probably used to it after weeks of dealing with an emotional Pidge. If she was in a better mood, she might’ve backed off and listened, but this was sleep-deprived emotional Pidge, and sleep-deprived emotional Pidge wasn’t the most reasonable or lovely person.

She clutched the sides of her tablet harder.

Couldn’t he see that she was riding a burst of productivity that she’d been missing for weeks? Pidge didn’t know when she’d feel this motivated again, if he tried to take her away now all of it would be for nothing, he didn’t understand how _ difficult _ it was.

Sometimes it felt like nobody in the entire Castle really understood why this was so important to her. It vexed her to the core that they could be so insensitive when all that she wanted was her family back. Was that really so _ selfish_?

_ Was _it?

It...it probably was, but admitting that felt like giving up on them and all of the effort and work she put into finding them thus far. The entire reason she’d ended up in space was because of her search, she hadn’t wanted this life—to be sworn into a mission that she, for the most part, had never asked to join.

Yet now it was her fault for trying to get them back. Her fault for putting so much effort into her family rather than the next mission. Her fault that they’d even been lost, for letting them go—

Pidge already left her Mom. To her own credit, it had hardly _ really_ been her decision_, _but then again, she hadn’t protested when Blue took them all through the wormhole, so could she even say those words in complete honesty? No. No, as dubious as the decision had been, she made it and therefore had to stick with it.

But she’d _ left _ her own _ Mom_, and in the worst way possible. The _ same _ way that Matt and Dad did; without a trace or idea of what _ truly_ happened, and without any feasible way to get them back. Not even a guarantee of her still being alive.

It was possibly Pidge’s greatest regret to date, and she would certainly never forgive herself if anything happened to her mom while she was away. She couldn’t imagine how alone and terrified she must be, but Pidge decidedly couldn’t think about that right now because she needed to make this time and its resources worth it. No point in whining about something when she had the chance to rectify it.

Coming back from space alive wouldn’t be enough. She needed something to show for it, needed to fix her brother and father’s dumb, _ stupid _ decision to fly out into space and leave Pidge to collect the fragments herself. She _ had _ to bring them both _ back. _

It didn’t matter if Pidge saved the entire universe if it meant that she never got to see her dad’s smile again, or have Matt ruffle her hair.

Right now, it was all about finding leads. Pidge had next to nothing on even where to start, but she _ knew _if she could only find the tether of a rope to latch onto, she could make due.

But it didn’t matter how much of a genius she was if she had nothing to go off of. _ Everything _so far only presented her with dead-ends and disappointment. 

A few weeks prior Pidge had spent countless hours and nights digging through the archives of a prison log, only to come across the fact that it was centuries old by now and entirely useless to her. Her foot still smarted from where she’d slammed it several times into a wall after facing this realization, only stopping when Shiro burst in in alarm.

Needless to say, the following hour had been spent away from any and all screens with Shiro in the Castle library as they spoke, admittedly making Pidge feel much...lighter, once she returned to her room red-eyed and collapsed into her bed. She slept better that night than she’d slept in probably weeks, and much more at that.

Once she’d woken up—apparently thirteen heavenly hours later—she’d been shocked to see that all of the drained coffee mugs, balled up papers, and assorted food wrappers that had once been spread absolutely everywhere were all gone. It left the floor near spotless, and took a further weight off of Pidge’s chest she didn’t even know she’d been holding. Made her working space feel less constricting.

So she couldn’t stay very angry at Shiro, not after she would remind herself that he clearly did care. 

Though it didn't mean that his lecturing nature didn’t get on her nerves, like it was now. It still bugged Pidge how Shiro would try and parent her like she was a child.

She was fighting in a war, and was technologically smarter than the rest of her older teammates. The Galra didn’t aim with any less prejudice at her than they did everyone else, and laser wounds and bruises had yet to ease in their stinging upon realizing she was younger. Age clearly didn’t matter in the same way it did back on earth, not even slightly.

Pidge opened her mouth to stubbornly insist upon staying up a little while longer, when a loud crash resonated somewhere within the Castle.

Pidge startled and Shiro tensed at the sudden noise, but both faces dawned relief at the triumphant laughing that preceded it. Laughing that was all too familiar and all too arrogant.

The relief turned to exasperation, and Pidge growled indignantly.

If Shiro had been Pidge’s rock through this, then Lance was her...whatever the antonym of rock was.

It seemed like every time she was just beginning to get back into the swing of things, Lance was causing some kind of trouble, whether on his own or with the help of Hunk. He found a way to be so, _ so _ loud, and _ smug _ about it, and it made Pidge want to pull her own hair out.

Normally Pidge could ignore or even join in with Lance’s chaotic behavior, but lately trying to keep focused on work was already mentally straining, and that was without the extra ruckus.

It took all Pidge had not to storm out of her room and shut him up herself, instead electing to tighten her jaw and plug her ears. Currently, Shiro’s presence was the only thing keeping her from screaming at Lance, because she was just too worn out to reign herself in.

Shiro noticed this, of course he did, and sent Pidge a sympathetic look.

“I know, I know—I’m going to talk to him about noise, he—”

“It doesn’t _ matter _anyway!” Pidge blurted bitterly, “He won’t shut up! It doesn’t matter what you say—he doesn’t care!”

“Pidge—” Shiro started, but Pidge didn’t let him speak, already knowing what he was about to say.

“Don’t defend him! I know he—” she foresaw Shiro’s argument for Lance’s defense and rethought her words. 

“I _ know, _ he has good intentions and I _ know _ he doesn’t mean to bother me but it doesn’t _ matter! _”

Pidge’s face was hot with anger and yelling and loads of random emotions, and they were all so close to the surface that she nearly felt her eyes begin to blur over. Sleep-deprived emotions were a real bitch.

“I just want some time alone to work, without any,” her voice lowered darkly, both in simmering anger and also to hide the possible voice crack.

“Disruptions.”

Shiro at first had no words to this. His hand hovered unsurely, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. His face turned from worried to almost pensive, as he seemed to mull something over.

They were both quiet then, for a little while, and Pidge took the time to stifle her frustration back down inside her. She didn’t return to her tablet, but she refused to meet Shiro’s eyes, both in embarrassment and petty redirected irritation.

Finally, Shiro cautiously broke the silence.

“What about this,” he offered, “If I could get him out of the Castle for an hour, for you to work in peace...would you sleep when he came back? _ Actually _sleep?” he asked with a hopeful lit.

Pidge shifted to face him, raising her eyebrows slightly and bunching up her sleeves. All of her yelling made her skin burn, and she decided once Shiro left she would change into a T-shirt. 

“How would you even do that?” Pidge asked testily. The idea sounded amazing. No commotion, no sound, for an entire hour? Of course, Shiro couldn’t promise that the Castle alarm wouldn’t go off, couldn’t promise the absence of a mission, but…

But no Lance yelling and blabbing?

It sounded too good to be true.

“Well...I’ve been talking with Allura. Right now, I believe we’re close to an Intergalactic neutral zone. A mall. I was thinking we could send Lance there on a ‘supply run’.” Shiro explained, silent air quotes on the last part. Pidge felt the beginnings of a smile tempting to pull her lips up. “I’m sure he would enjoy some time outside the Castle too. We’re all getting a little antsy, after all.”

She was reminded of their last team visit to a space mall. Of course, at the time they’d been tasked with more pressing matters but it had been...fun. Hanging out with _ Lance _had been fun. Collecting fountain coins, evading the Space mall cop, all of it. It was great to just forget all of the worry and bigger problems that kept her up at night.

It made her slightly sad that she couldn’t come with him to the mall, but that would defeat the entire purpose, and frankly she would probably just have a grudge against him the whole time that would ruin any possible fun.

She swatted the idea and strange feeling building inside her away, and grinned.

“That would be really, really nice, yeah.” she mumbled wistfully, and at this Shiro smiled, relieved.

“Perfect. I’ll speak with Allura about docking on the planet, and I’ll just leave you to do your work,” he said, standing, and Pidge tried to relay her genuine appreciation in one soft look.

“Thank you, Shiro,” she simpered, and he sent her his own kind look as he retreated out the door, and the room was silent once more.

Slowly, Pidge turned back to her tablet, still open on that same page filled with coding that she was going to have to analyze and crack.

It wasn’t like she hated Lance. Don’t get her wrong but...he was frustrating. The others she could stand, they stayed far away from her and they weren’t persistent—well, except for Shiro, but he knew where the line was. Lance didn’t.

He kept coming back to her room, regardless of what she threw at him, literally and figuratively—and she knew that sounded nice and supportive, but she couldn’t emphasize how much it had the _ opposite _ effect. Shiro was careful, patient, and calm, and Lance was nosy and sudden and stubborn and a _ lot_—it was frankly maddening. He never got the hint to just screw off and leave her _ be_.

She ignored the queasiness that grew when the noises of haughty giggling and speech died off. Tucked it away, like she did most things.

Instead, Pidge rubbed her thumb against the frame of her tablet. She took a nice and deep breath, and got back to work.

* * *

The time drained away all too fast. 

Even still, Pidge managed to get loads done, making more progress in one go than she’d made in...well, definitely a while. Productivity was hard to measure, but decoding hadn’t felt this easy for as long as Pidge had first laid her eyes upon space—or more specifically Galra—technology. She saw things with more clarity than normal, even in her sleep-deprived and sadly noncaffeinated state.

It might’ve chalked up to a random rush of hyperfocus, but Pidge couldn’t help but think that the lack of any noise at all had to contribute. It was simply so serene, working in silence with nothing but the crinkle of paper and dull noise of her fingers tapping on the screen of her tablet. Whatever uneasy feeling that had taken residence in the pit of her stomach at the beginning was all but buried now as her eyes darted across the screen hungrily.

Having to use her brain in such a way and keep it continuously active might’ve been difficult for some people, but for Pidge it was incredibly refreshing when she was truly making _ progress_. It made her feel useful, and useful was the best way to feel nowadays in the Castle’s unspoken hierarchy.

Not only did she crack the statement file and read it through, but from there she’d also found some seriously helpful stuff. One of the night guards had mentioned in their daily vigilance report about a pesky creature from earth stirring up trouble, and although Pidge knew this wasn’t highly specific or time-dated so it really could’ve been any human, it was more than she could ask for.

As little and vague as the tidbit of information was, it gave her a route to follow, and it was _ thrilling _ because she had a _ lead_.

She’d spent the remainder of her time exploring all possible avenues about the timeframe of the statement, what system it might’ve been recorded in, and even though these things would take time, she wasn’t aimlessly searching anymore. Now she had _ direction_, and with that she was _ unstoppable_.

Which is why Pidge made a point not to notice when her hour was up, or if she did she hardly cared. Even if it was immature, she was going to keep going until Shiro came in and pried her tablet out of her rapidly typing fingers.

Don’t get her wrong, she was going to uphold her end of the deal, but if she just so happened to maybe lose track of time...he could hardly blame her, right?

But however purposefully ignorant Pidge tried her best to be, she couldn’t actually ignore Hunk barging straight into her room, knocking only after he’d forced his way into the threshold.

On another occasion she might’ve been angry, but seeing as Hunk looked keenly upset and frazzled, Pidge had her tablet off and was sitting up in an instant. Alarm or no alarm, Allura had drilled into all of them the importance of always being ready for trouble. She kept her armor under her bed at all times now, embarrassed from one time she’d been the last person to reach her Lion, even after Lance. He hadn’t stopped teasing her about that for weeks.

“Hey! Uh, err, sorry for not knocking, but Lance isn’t back from the mall yet,” he spoke frantically. “He won’t answer any of our calls and messages, and we thought that he might’ve messaged you about why he was taking so long.” 

Pidge’s shoulders lowered slowly as she sighed, releasing the tension and anticipation that the idea of a fight tended to bring. Of course, it was just Lance, late as ever. Of course.

She noticed that right behind him standing in the doorframe was Shiro, who although didn’t look nearly as shaken still had clear worry shining in his eyes. However, if this was a mere reflection of Hunk’s distress remained to be seen.

“Why would he have messaged _ me_?” Pidge asked, trying her best to keep any degree of exasperation from her words.

Hunk looked mildly confused through his fraught concern, tilting his head a bit.

“Uhh, I mean, he didn’t message any of the rest of us, so we—I just thought he might’ve told you. His alien phone thing is off, it goes straight to voicemail, and it just isn’t like him—”

“To be late?” Pidge asked in disbelief, raising an eyebrow. Hunk faltered slightly.

“Well, no, I guess, but it’s already been almost twenty minutes since he said he’d be back. He would have told someone if he was planning on staying so long, I think.”

Pidge paused, flicking her eyes to her tablet in surprise. She knew she’d gone over her hour, but twenty minutes....that was a while, even for Lance.

The uneasy feeling came back in full force, vivid enough to be almost nauseating. She tried to will it away, swallowing.

“So, what, do you want me to help look for him?” Pidge asked, not particularly rudely, just curious. She was feeling too...odd, to have a bite to her words.

Hunk bit his lip, and Shiro stepped forward past him.

“I know I told you to rest—I still want you to—but the Mall is big and we could really use an extra set of eyes.” he glanced at Hunk. “And, not that I think it’ll be necessary, but if there’s anything wrong after all, then…”

Pidge nodded tiredly in understanding, getting up and grabbing her bayard from under her bed. Normally she would’ve been reluctant—because this really did feel like just the thing Lance would do—but the gross churn of her stomach made her move just a little faster to get her helmet on.

Maybe it was just a bad batch of food goo, maybe not. Either way, it had her making her way with Shiro and Hunk down the halls and out of the Castle. She didn’t ask why Keith wasn’t coming, and by the time the heat of the Reptilian Mall had hit her she’d forgotten all about it anyway.

* * *

Pidge yanked her helmet off her head and bowled it under her bed. It sounded loudly when it collided with the rest of her pieces of armor, but she paid no mind to the noise as she slumped down on her bed.

The cool mattress felt great against her warm sweat-coated skin, and she would’ve showered right when she got back if Keith hadn’t told her that Lance had beat her to it right after unceremoniously pushing her and Hunk away. Now she was too tired to even stand in one place for so long, worn absolutely thin with the last ounce of energy she had left exhausted.

She groaned long and low right into the mattress, face pressed up against it as she laid on her stomach.

Stupid, dramatic, boastful Lance. She should have fucking known it was all just him being...him.

All of their searching, Hunk’s fear, Shiro’s concern, had led to finding out that Lance did not care that they’d looked for him. Did not apologize for taking so long, or wasting their time. No, of course he didn’t, because he was too busy feeling butthurt that some random girl he’d flirted with beat his ass. Really, what had Pidge expected?

It was a very, _ very_ shallow satisfaction, seeing his petrified embarrassment at admitting that it had happened, but her enjoyment was mostly an exaggeration to make him feel more like shit for putting her through so much unnecessary concern and effort, and then _ shoving _her for it.

And to think she’d been _ worried_. To think she _ still did. _

She curled into a small ball on her bed, pressing the bare parts of her skin against it to comfort her nerves and bring down her temperature. She set her glasses to the side, rubbing her eyes.

Correction; technically she _ wasn’t _worried. Amused, maybe, and still a bit frustrated and offended at how quick he’d been to brush everyone’s work at finding him aside, but not technically worried. Not anymore.

She said technically, only because that awful nausea from earlier in the day had yet to actually disappear. It was still there, docile and settled in the pit of her stomach as a constant weight.

It hadn’t once been quelled completely since it had appeared, and after initially finding Lance all roughed up and blank-looking it had become impossible to ignore.

Pidge thought it might’ve gone away once she realized that he was fine and just given a taste of his own stupid medicine, but if she was being honest, it had only worsened. Her laughing in his face hadn’t helped either. If anything it’d sharpened it, and Shiro reprimanding her for apparently taking things “too far”—

She felt almost sick now with it all crowding around her, and an exhausted, frustrated, emotional, _ and _sick Pidge was not a good combo in the slightest. It actually made her feel quite shitty.

So it was with great reluctance that Pidge powered off her tablet, tossed it into a pile of clothes near the corner of the room, and brought the blankets up and over herself. She’d promised Shiro that she would sleep, after all, and although the way things had turned out hadn’t been ideal, she was still tired as all hell. Now even more so than before.

So Lance, the odd feeling in her gut, showering, and—her stomach growled—probably eating and drinking too, would all have to wait until after she got some rest. There was no rush to deal with these things now, and as annoying as human limitations were, she understood that she worked better when she was well-rested and fully charged.

Pidge burrowed her head into her pile of pillows and lazily flicked off the lamp keeping her room lit, plunging her into comfortable darkness.

She’d feel better when she woke up. She always did.

* * *

Pidge couldn’t believe her luck.

The lead she’d discovered a good week ago now hadn’t been a fluke, it’d been an honest to god _ miracle_. 

Earlier that day, Pidge had taken the name of the Galra soldier who gave the original statement she found and put it through a scan to see if it popped up anywhere else she’d searched or already encrypted. She hadn’t expected much, thought it would just be a name to look out for in the future, but absolutely lost her shit when she found his name and entire status profile already entirely at her disposal from some data bank she’d dug through a while back.

Apparently she’d run through a small, insignificant labor site a while ago that this random soldier, by complete chance, had stationed at. She found all of his past and current posts in a perfectly neat and tidy list, along with personal character information that she honestly couldn’t care less about.

It came up with about five separate systems that Matt and or her Dad might have possibly been—or even could maybe still _ be_—at. _ Five_. Five was absolutely _ nothing _ compared to the list containing thousands of options she’d had before. She’d gone from searching for a needle in the universe's largest haystack, to having five red party cups with the quarter placed under one. She was goddamn _ ecstatic_. 

In complete contrast to the time she’d followed a wild goose chase and lost her mind a month back, she felt so overjoyed and vindicated at the sheer amount of information she’d garnered that she’d launched straight out of her bed and jumped around her room for a solid minute, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.

That night had been the first team dinner she’d actually attended in what was probably a good handful of weeks, and it showed. Hunk even did a damn double-take when he spotted her, but the faces of everyone there dawned surprise.

Everyones but Lance’s.

Lance hadn’t been at the table, which was apparently something perceived as normal now because nobody had much to say about it as they quietly finished their own plates, but it was nothing she’d let spoil her mood. Not even the persistent ache that spiked in his absence could throw her jittery excitement as she shoveled food goo that had never tasted so good into her mouth.

She didn’t ask about him or investigate herself, trusting that Hunk and possibly Shiro were already on the case, and let him be the same way she wished he did to her.

Actually, the way _ had _ been, for the past two weeks or so. Pidge couldn’t recall him bothering her once in that timeframe, which—which was _ really _weird.

Pidge tried to tell herself that the complete lack of Castle commotion and activity was a good thing. She’d never been so productive, never had such a quiet work environment; not even back on Earth. There’d always been the sound of dishes from downstairs, or her brother talking and laughing and popping in for a visit to see what she’d been up to, or her Dad tinkering with something in the garage—

The silence was a good thing. It helped her work faster and more efficiently, and Lance’s business was entirely his own. She’d always hated it whenever Lance bothered her, so there was no reason to expect that it would be any different for him. Pidge didn’t consider herself a hypocrite, so she’d leave him alone.

She had more important things to be doing anyway. 

Pidge cleared her plate, said something about being in her room if anyone wanted her, and hesitated before instinctively shutting the door behind her. 

She reasoned that there wasn’t much purpose in closing it anymore, that the room was feeling stuffy anyway, so for once she left it open.

Then Pidge worked. For hours she did, until she fell into a groove, all the while straining her ears to catch the echo of a giggle or shuffle of movement from down the hall of light steps that she would never hear.

The feeling in her stomach remained.

* * *

Pidge couldn’t stop thinking about the explosion, and everything that followed. She couldn’t stop her brain from circling back around to it every time she tried to focus. 

It was just...the fight was off from the start, and she couldn’t put the blame of Voltron failing on herself, but, she just….wished she’d handled it all better, she supposed. Pidge was an overthinker, through and through, and she couldn’t help but dwell on if Lance had been just a little closer, if there’d been just a bit more built-up pressure—

The very last thing he’d heard before it had been her telling him to take a joke. And sure, it wasn't as if _Pidge _had been the one overreacting, but that didn’t change the fact that she’d said something rude moments before he went offline for a good minute.

She reminded herself that it was fine now. He was here, Coran said he was good, and everything checked out.

But she still felt...responsible. Which was ridiculous when nothing about the scenario had been directly her fault, but she couldn’t shake the feeling.

The guilt only seemed to feed the ache deep down inside her, making it grow and gnaw at her until it was all she could think about.

It didn’t stop her from trying to work, though. Even if it seemed impossible.

The history of a planet's climate and weather tendencies were a dull read on a good day, and obviously her current state of mind was not the ideal one to be in while doing it. Still, it was a task that had to be done, and if she didn’t do it now she’d be doing it later, which didn’t sound much more appealing.

She absentmindedly sipped some of her coffee down as she read, drinking it now more out of necessity than taste since it was practically black and awfully bitter. 

Shiro wasn’t bringing her caffeine anymore—something about it being against his moral code—so Pidge was taking the time to brew it for herself, and if that didn’t speak volumes for the level of desperation she was on, Pidge didn’t know what did.

There wasn’t anything especially interesting about searching through the planets in the five systems the profile gave her, but Pidge was a big picture person, and the little things were imperative if she ever wanted to even get that far. 

She snapped her attention back to the fluctuating water level of some historically important river whenever it drifted around to the way Lance’s voice sounded when he clicked his audio back on, and continued doing so for what seemed like hours. 

It was during her laborious efforts that Pidge’s tablet notified her with a buzz that the Galra officer’s profile that she’d been monitoring had just been updated. Now. As in _ right _at that moment.

She turned her attention towards her tablet, switching it for her computer that’d be resting on her lap long enough to leave red marks, and almost dropped her mug as her eyes scanned the page.

You see, Galra information was almost always time sensitive; _ frustratingly _ so. It was why Pidge had trouble hacking into anything relatively old—things either got deleted or buried right after it was no longer active or of immediate use. 

And, as much as she wished so, Pidge was not omnipresent. She couldn’t be in every databank, mainframe, and information storage at the _ same _ time to know when something updated or changed.

But she didn’t have to be.

She just had to be in the _ right _ place.

Or, should she say, the right _ profile_.

Because on the screen that stared back at Pidge read the exact time and address that a meeting would be taking place between the officer in question and a damn _ general_, which, according to Pidge’s magnificent memory, was definitely one of the higher up titles in the Galra ranking system.

And what was better, was that Pidge could potentially _ track it _ to its _ exact _system.

Pidge’s face broke into a smile that lifted her glasses as she drank up the details.

Turns out her luck had yet to run dry, and it only got better from there—or worse, depending on how she looked at it.

The good news was that she wouldn’t have to wait long, the meeting was happening live in only_ four varga_, which she had to reread over a couple of times to believe. The bad news, however, was that she was finding out quickly that there was no way she’d be able to track it, much less listen in, without risking the digital protection of all of her servers and tech. 

Luckily, it wasn’t an issue with her hacking software like she’d feared.

It just turned out that Galra Military generals were not too keen on having anyone peep on their conversations, and had integrated the hugest virtual lock that Pidge had ever come across on the address of the live meeting. Keyword: huge. Not intricate or complicated, just large in file size, meaning that it would take her computer far longer than four hours to dig through it all, and by then the transmission would have ended and then been promptly deleted.

That only meant that Pidge needed something that could get through it faster than her computer could, something more powerful and advanced than the portable homemade equipment she’d pieced together herself.

Something potentially like the Castle’s system, with its high-tech Altean technology and strength. Allegedly, if the magic was even compatible at all with the coding of her computer, it would be perfect. She’d be able to flawlessly spy on the meeting, and the Galra would be none the wiser.

Which brought Pidge to her next obstacle; finding a way to transfer her hacking system into the Castle’s circuitry, which brought her back to the issue of compatibility and the lack of time she had left to work it out. 

She was going to have to do some research into how the Castle functioned if she had any hope at all, and she was going to have to do it _ fast, _because the clock was ticking and Pidge couldn’t afford to run out of time.

She cracked her knuckles against her legs, drained what remained of her coffee, and forcefully shoved the deep pit inside her away.

The following hours were ones that went by both very quickly and painfully slowly. She’d gone through several long stages lacking in significant progress where she feared she would get stuck, one much needed bathroom break, and another two cups of Altean instant coffee that tastes like ash and green beans but still managed to give her an extra boost she needed.

And the fruits of her labor were worth it all.

With another two hours to spare, Pidge had managed to identify a way to connect her hacking software to the Castle’s mainframe, and it was all through the means of a chip made put together herself, connected through an adapter she’d already had at her disposal.

She blinked slowly as she held the finished product in her hand, so exhausted from hours of stressful calculations, research, and tinkering that what she felt wasn’t so much joy as it was relief.

Almost robotically it was plugged into her computer to download the information, which although was effortless on Pidge’s part did not come without apprehension.

Even without dealing with the Galra lock, it would still take her computer an hour to download it all, and approximately half an hour to integrate it with the Castle. It gave her little room for error, because if at any point the download failed or was prolonged, she wouldn’t have time to do it over again. 

Pidge had one shot to do everything perfectly, and without time to do any beta scans or test runs, she wasn’t as confident as she wished.

As for if she managed to do her part without complications, she wasn’t worried about Allura’s permission to use the Castle at all. Everyone on the entire ship knew how much this meant to Pidge, and trusted that she knew what she was doing in her field.

No, her success leaned on Pidge and Pidge alone, and so she knew where the blame would go if she failed.

Pidge understood just how much was resting on accessing that meeting. She understood, if anything, _ too _well.

She hoped—wherever Matt and Dad were—that they could hold on, just a little longer, because Pidge was coming for them, and no force in the universe could stop her. Pidge was going to bring them _ home, _ and she’d never lose any part of her family ever again.

It was when Pidge was rushed by a sudden lapse of cold, miserable loneliness that she crumbled. The tears that blurred her vision collected at the ridges of her glasses when they fell, but Pidge made no move to wipe them. 

She and she alone sat there beside her laptop as the download percentage steadily climbed, praying to whoever was listening that she would fulfill her promise.

* * *

61%

The hour ticked by, and beside her computer was where Pidge remained. Brutally awake as ever, eyes glued to the progress bar as it filled with green drop by agonizing drop.

Pidge wished she could sleep. Her body and mind yearned for it, but she didn’t trust herself to wake up to any alarm beside the Castle’s, and she told herself that keeping vigilance was the best thing for her to do.

So far, the download was going according to plan with no noticeable lag, processing at about an average of 1.7 percent a minute. At least, Pidge thought so, She couldn’t monitor very efficiently with her eyes drooping closed every minute, only to be quickly opened the moment she realized she’d closed them in the first place.

66%

Pidge was really, really tired. And bored. It reminded her of being forced to go to church when she was little and sitting through the adult lesson because she didn’t want to be alone, and she wasn’t old enough to join the youth group with Matt. Her parents wouldn’t let her sleep because it was ‘disrespectful’, and the lecture went over her head, even though she was already way more intelligent than the average six-year-old.

It was actually a pretty valid comparison, since six-year-old Pidge had plenty of nightmares and never got enough sleep in favor of it. The only difference was the underlying stress that plagued her now, and how it was far beyond even the comprehension of younger Pidge.

70%

So she was hungry, thirsty, in desperate need for rest, and under crushing levels of pressure.

Pidge sighed, but breathing deeply through her nose proved to be a bad idea when her face crinkled.

And she apparently needed to shower. Badly.

Pidge entertained the thought of getting in a quick shower while she still had a decent chunk of time left, but nixed it when she realized the very real danger of falling asleep standing under the warm water and getting a concussion from hitting her head on the floor. Now that would be the dumbest way to screw everything up.

Like everything, Pidge could survive putting off showering for a little while longer. Even if the smell was a little noxious.

75%

She would’ve showered yesterday—she prided herself on usually managing to upkeep a mostly healthy level of hygiene despite her habits and pastimes that involved her being in bed most of an average day—but it was almost always being used by someone, and that someone almost always was Lance. 

And there she was, back at it again. Her insides squeezed for a reason besides hunger.

She didn’t ask, she shouldn’t—she didn’t care why he did it (why he did _ any _ of it) and was acting so weird. She couldn’t piece any of the behavior he’d noticed together other than tracing it back to the trip to the mall, but that was ridiculous because he couldn’t honestly still be hung up on something so stupid.

Pidge didn’t claim to know Lance incredibly well. They were friends—to Pidge, they were close friends, even if saying so felt bitterly fake when she had hardly spoken with him in weeks, but that was beside the point.

Pidge’s point was that she thought she knew him well enough to know that Lance was good at bouncing back from things. He could recover from anything the moment after it happened, no matter how daunting. That wasn’t to say he didn’t hold grudges—his rivalry with Keith was testimony to this—but verbal blows or situations were something he could shake off with almost admirable quickness.

She learned this all the way back in the Garrison where Iverson could literally embarrass and ridicule him in front of their entire class, and Lance could go back to gossiping minutes later. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t affected, Pidge _ knew _that he was, it was just that he just got over it weirdly fast.

So she didn’t really think it was about the mall, then. Pidge figured that it could’ve been a fight between him and Keith between the time he stormed past her and the next time she saw him, but even that wouldn’t have led to something like this. She couldn’t even imagine anything that would have led to _ this_, and the fact that it had just been _ happening _around her for weeks was more than mildly alarming, even to her addled sleep-deprived head.

What’s worse is that this was really the first time she’s put heavy thought into Lance’s behavior without trying to shove it away, and she’s already noticing red flags. Of course, the whole Lance acting hostile towards a kid on the Armyaticulador planet (or was it Armadicdacatular? She didn’t remember, the name was beyond even Pidge’s fantastic memory) had raised her suspicions, but at the time she’d really just passed it off as an outburst. 

Of course it was ridiculous _ now _ that she hadn’t thought of it being just a _ little _ concerning initially, but her mind was on other things. The team was back to normal the day after he and Shiro talked, right? Shiro said they’d talked it out, she was sure of it...but what did that really even mean? She... she’d never even dwelled on _ why _he’d done it in the first place, why hadn’t she tried to talk to him, talk to anyone?

Wait, no. No, Lance wasn’t any of her business. She was busy, and tired, and didn’t have time for Lan—for anything distracting.

And then there was the damn fight against the giant ship, the explosion, his behavior during it all that made the awful ache deep inside churn sharply—

94%

But Pidge was getting ahead of herself. This wasn’t anything pressing, or that she couldn’t deal with tomorrow. The meeting was. Besides, she didn’t need more worry to add to the pile now, she was struggling enough as it was.

There were only about ten minutes left until she could move to the Castle Bridge and start the update, which was the part she was the most worried for.

Still, Pidge decided that after today, she was going to ask around the Castle about updates on Lance. She realized she was likely out of the social loop now, what with her being even more of a shut-in than usual, and hoped her fellow paladins would fill her in on what she’d missed or overlooked. But now?

100%

As carefully as she could without wasting time, Pidge removed the plug from where it’d rested for forty-eight minutes (she was making great time) and grasped the device around her hand, using her other arm to carry her computer.

Now it was time to get some answers.

It was time to take a step towards saving her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...guys, please understand that all of the technological terms Pidge uses are complete gibberish trying desperately to sound legitimate because I know next to nothing about code or hacking whatsoever lmao. just turn a blind eye while I use plot magic and the power invested in me as the author to smite all logic in anything Pidge talks about ever.  
so, yeah! I really do not hate Pidge!! It's just that we've seen this fic through Lance's and Keith's POV, and so I thought it was necessary to show Pidge's take on everything because she's been perceived as a bad guy which is just not so (the way I write her is based HEAVILy on my girlfriend, but don't tell her that hushhsuh.)  
ALSO! There is good news and (debatably) bad news!  
Good news is that the next chapter is already almost completely done!  
Bad news????? is that it's also a Pidge pov lmfao but listen ok there was only meant to be ONE for a while, but her POV turned into 11k+ words??? what???? so I split it :-) and the posting date of the next one depends on the feedback I get here (and how hectic finals is)!!  
thanks to all you regulars out there, you think I don't see you but I see all of you. yES EVEN you! ok ily all bye <333


	12. hold hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank all of you who commented last time??? those long nice comments that just make me internally combust??? last chapters unofficial extremely subjectively chosen, lovely comments go to cereal_whore (BRO the comment doesn't even fit on the page ahahauh) Pine_Daddy (you're so encouraging and kind I'm crying dude :'-)) and Kai (LOVE how much you're paying attention to everything).  
Ok here's the aforementioned Pidge POV, go ham

Pidge could have described the feeling of walking briskly through the white metal halls as the same feeling as making your way towards the final boss battle in a video game. She was full of so much anticipation and anxiety that her fingers trembled where they held tightly onto both devices, making them feel heavier and Pidge much, much more light.

She mapped out her exact courses of action she’d take upon entering the Control room deck several times over in her head to distract herself from her beating heart and sweaty palms, like a comforting mantra, of sorts.

Enter the room, locate the transmission plug that, according to the Castle layouts, is supposed to be beneath the control panel, answer all questions briefly to not stir alarm, expose the plug opening, connect the output of the adapter to the opening, and begin the download. Don’t rush, there’s plenty of time, stay level headed and sane, _ don't screw it up—_

It was when Pidge was about to round another corner of one of the Castle’s hallways, immersed in repeating and reinstating her plan, that she saw Lance, barreling at what must’ve been a full sprint and startling Pidge properly out of her utterings before he inevitably rammed straight into her, knocking the air out of her lungs as she was propelled back.

Pidge felt the adapter-chip leave her hand on impact just as her sweaty grip loosened, but it was the crunch that followed moments after she hit the ground that sparked horrific dread within her far, far worse than the blunt pain of the collision.

In the moment of movement she’d managed to instinctively wrap her arms around her computer, landing hard on her backside, but saving the already crushed device beside Lance’s foot and the hour it’d taken to ready it was beyond her capability.

And just like that, everything was gone.

Soundlessly and without breath she crawled beside it, not missing a beat, as if it were the body of a fallen friend—and for its purpose, that's what it might as well have been.

It lay there in three flattened, uneven pieces, with its intricate wires and internal coding exposed. Pidge recognized all of it. Recognized that the hours she’d spent had amounted to nothing. Saw her distorted, small reflection in bits and pieces of broken bits that potentially could’ve brought her back into her father and brother’s arms.

But it was always _ potentially_, wasn’t it? 

There was always an unfavorable factor to consider, and Pidge had staked on it being the time limit. But it wasn’t the time limit that had ruined her now.

Pidge could feel her breathing, feel the pressure she’d been carrying swarm inside her head and fill all the gaps and crevices as it all tried to worm its way inside.

Lance—who was taller and had been going so much faster with absolutely no good, acceptable reason to be doing so—took a few steps back and away from the broken device, just standing there in mute horror. The blow clearly hadn’t been nearly as devastating for him as it had been for Pidge, and yet several moments of nothing passed where neither of them moved for two entirely separate reasons.

It was _ Lance_.

Reality trickled in slowly at first, like wringing cloth, and then all at once, when the momentary shock was smothered by the crushing weight of instant and terrible loss.

“—what the _ hell, _Lance?” she breathed, but her voice was hollow as she stared hopelessly at the shattered pieces before collecting them in her trembling hands.

That adapter-chip—it had been her chance. Her opportunity_. _ The lives of her family could have potentially been staked on Pidge listening to and tracking that meeting—

(Potentially, as in she’d missed them? Or as if they were already. Oh. Oh _ god_.)

But it was gone. All of it, all of her buildup and work, extinguished in a moment of thoughtless destruction. Of carelessness. And Pidge couldn’t have done _ anything. _

And the person who held the blame, Pidge realized. The person who’d taken her precious potentially and skinned it, was trying to _ leave_.

Lance was trying to_ step around her_. He—he wasn’t even trying to help her _ up_, he was just trying to get away, always just trying to avoid consequence and judgment.

Pidge’s unkempt nails dug into her palms, and as it all burnt around her she saw _ red_.

“Don’t you _ dare _ even _ think _ about leaving you _ dick!_” she roared, rearing up to physically throw herself at his legs and grab hold of his ankles if he tried to get around her.

He flinched violently at her volume, and Pidge found herself sneering in disgust at the display. How _dare _ he? How dare he act like _ he _ was the one hurting_? _Act like he could hold a candle to what she’s just lost?

She didn’t think she’d ever hated someone so suddenly and strongly in a moment's notice before, didn’t think she’d ever felt so violently and royally _ angry_. She didn’t know where this monster of fury was even emerging from or where it sat inside her, all she knew is that it wanted _blood _ and it was going to _ get it_.

“What the _ hell _is wrong with you?!” she pulled herself off her feet faster than she thought possible, crossing the distance between them in a second and blocking his way through, arms spread wide and feet falling into an easy fight stance. 

Even though the height difference was still there, she made sure to let it be very known to him that it wouldn’t stop her from proving her goddamn _ point_.

Lance didn’t respond, didn’t even attempt to apologize or defend himself, and Pidge was fucking _ glad _ because at that very moment she only wanted him to hurt as much as she was hurting, only wanted to burn all of the grief she felt at what she’d lost at his own greedy, _ selfish _hands that never cared about what they did or who they hurt.

“I just lost the _ one _ chance at finding my family I’ve had for months because of you, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to-to apologize! You just tried to get away, fucking _ coward_!” she was yelling so loud that it dwarfed all of the other constant chatter in her head, and brought painful ringing to her own ears. Her words were tearing at her throat with all her bottled hatred and anger, blood rushing to her head in a nearly dizzying intensity.

“I—I’m sorry.” he croaked, but Pidge would be having _ none _ of it. She coughed out a bitter, incredulous laugh.

“I don’t care! I don’t care that you’re fucking sorry! Sorry doesn’t bring back my brother, it doesn’t help my Dad! I can’t do _ shit _ with sorry, and I _ don’t care_!”

Pidge chucked the remains of the shattered adapter-chip at Lance as hard as she could before she even knew what she was doing, but Lance didn’t make a noise as he reeled backward, clutching the area where the sharp, heavy metal struck with his other hand, face more of shock than pain. 

He was completely stiff against the wall, but Pidge hardly gave a fuck about that as she let all of the anger at the world and the universe out on him with her words, piling it on in layers and layers so that he could understand how much she’d been carrying since the day she lost most of her family and was tasked with bringing them _ back. _ The nights she’d spent researching and grieving in turn, the days she couldn’t get anything done because she’d convinced herself it was too late, that she was a _ failure _ and that everything she’d done was for nothing and they were _ gone. _

The lack of reaction as she screamed only took a bit of the fire from her, because it presented Pidge with the self-awareness that she was being childish_, _just a little girl having a tantrum and lashing out again, don’t mind her, she’ll have a nap and something to eat and feel _all _better.

Well _ fuck _ that, because Pidge honestly didn’t fucking care if she was acting like a brat. Even this understanding was but a hose trying to extinguish a forest fire. She plowed forward, just as sure and full of that burning, blazing anger. Lance didn’t get to act the part of the all high and mighty responsible one, she wasn’t going to _ let _him.

“You _ never _ care about _ anyone _ else as long as _ you _ get what you want! It doesn’t matter how anyone else feels, because the whole world has to spin on an axis around your bloated self-esteem, right? Newsflash, _ you annoy everyone, _ but you’re too self-absorbed to even realize it, even _ comprehend _it!” her voice was growing higher, face heating further as pressure built and her throat tightened painfully. She didn’t care how cruel she sounded, she only wanted to have him carry a weight remotely similar to her own, to understand how stressed and burdened she was every goddamn day trying to make up for something that was never her fault to begin with.

Pidge glared and heaved with all the fire she could punctuate, shaking with rage and looking for _ something _ in his face, but he wouldn’t even _ look _ at her, eyes wouldn't even meet her own as he stared numbly forward in what looked like terror, forcing the edges of Pidge’s firm resolve to crack.

Yelling at someone who didn’t yell back made her feel like shit; she wanted him to be angry, to hurt, to _ scream _ back at her and fuel her ravenous fire. Even now he couldn’t even give her a good fucking fight, taking the victim side, making her feel like she was in the wrong when she _ knew _it was him that’d screwed up! 

She pushed him further up against the wall from where he was trying to step away in an attempt to garner _ some _reaction but gasped shortly when he all but threw himself at her.

Pidge staggered away a few steps, but absolutely did _ not _ back off as she scowled up at him with narrowed eyes, daring him to hit her so that she could hit him, only to see that he seemed to have returned to himself, expression alight in his own storm of emotion. _ Good_.

“I said I was _sorry_, what more do you want from me?! What more can I _ do_?” he exploded desperately, but also full of sharp accusation that the creature inside of Pidge voraciously consumed. It was as if the pit inside her that’d become normality was now being entirely smothered, a relief she couldn’t even bask in the heat of the moment.

“Nothing! You can’t do _ shit_, and that’s the problem! Can you understand that_? _ Do you need me to spell it out for you? _ ” _she seethed, smiling as the jeer left her mouth without remorse.

He scoffed scornfully, recognizing the dig at his intelligence which normally Pidge would never target so honestly, and bared his teeth.

_ “ _ Then I have no reason to be here, do I? Clearly I don’t match up to your _ superior intellect_, but I’ve still somehow managed to piece together that you don't want me here right now, so if you would just stop being an overdramatic _ child _and let me go to my—”

“Me? _ I’m _ being overdramatic?! _ You’re _ the one who’s been acting _ fucking _ weird ever since the Reptilian Mall! _ You’re _ the one with such a _ huge fucking ego _ that you can’t even _ imagine _ having lost to a goddamn girl! Why is it so, so _ hard _ for you to just swallow your pride for _ once _ and stop moping around, begging for pity?!” she understands she’s being cruel and she understands it _ clearly_, but what she understands even better is the way his face crumples, hands tightening into visible fists at his side.

Lance shakes it off moments later, his features crinkling in disdain as he glowers down at her, stepping forward with a threatening vigor that takes Pidge by minute surprise.

“Well I’m least I’m _ TRYING_!” he sneered, shoulders hunched tightly, stepping forward so that he practically towered over her. 

“I’m not the one who’s jeopardizing _ millions _ of lives in a pointless quest to find a stupid dead brother! I’m putting things behind me, and you can’t even _ move on—_!”

His voice breaks with a barely audible gasp, face contorting as he steps back, but he’s already said the words, and Pidge has already _ heard _ them.

It felt like something within her, something _ real_, had been run through, and pain sharp as a dagger erupts in her chest, drowning her from the inside in gasoline so that she cannot breathe.

She swallows it, tries to swallow it as best she can, but despite everything inside her screaming for air and water, she finds her body stepping back into the fiery pit, and ignites herself.

“_Trying _ to do _ what? _ What exactly—what is, is so _ hard _ for you to do? Please enlighten me, _ Lance_,” she spits his name like it’s a bad taste in her mouth with as much venom as she can, aiming for the bullseye beating in his chest.

“I-” he starts, his reddened, scrunched up face looking a confused mixture of horrified and angry, but Pidge is immune to it all as the world caves in around her. She sticks an accusatory, trembling finger to his chest, trying with all she can to keep her voice tactically low and full of menace and hate.

“That’s right; that’s because you’re _not _trying, you, you just want _everyone's_ attention always on _you,_ you won’t even try and understand the loss, how _hard_ it is for me to keep trying to find my family when I know how high the probability is that they’re _all just gone, forever and, a-and—” _She cuts herself off as her voice turns into a shriek, and she’s left panting and shaking and feeling hot tears roll down her equally inflamed cheeks. 

Her vocal cords are high strung, and it feels as if her very bones are rattling in an attempt to get air back in her lungs, but it’s impossible because there’s no more oxygen left in the room.

“A-And I thought I had family left. I thought I, I wasn’t alone, but—”

She looked up at him, hatred blazing in her eyes, carving the words into him.

“I guess I was wrong.”

She turned away once the words had left her and before she could see their fallout, just wanting to get far away from Lance so that everything would just stop hurting—and was surprised in a bitter way to see Hunk and Shiro coming fast down the hall.

She didn’t look at them either—how could she when she knew what the expressions on their faces would already be—and burst past them when they tried to ask her questions.

She didn’t know if they were following her or not, but Pidge ran like they were, and made sure to lock her door with purpose the second she was inside, dropping the computer she’d barely remembered holding to meet the floor.

The room was littered with notes, cups, trash, and mechanical parts, but Pidge only saw fuel; dry, crackling leaves that remained only as evidence of death, and had no use or purpose anymore.

So Pidge _ stepped on them. _

She kicked and punched and screamed and yelled and tore and threw, her heartbeat inside of her ears, masking any thought beyond senseless rage that ate it all up readily.

She did so until she laid in the center of a nest birthed of her own destruction. Shards of ceramics lay in intricate web circles, dressed in scraps of paper and leather pageless flaps. Pencils and clothing and metal and stuffing spread everywhere, and still without any purpose at all.

It was right there, right there in the middle of everything that Pidge cried so loud with so much despair that she was screaming, heaving and gasping to try and get the anguish out and the world to slow down, feeling nothing _ but _ the hole inside her that ate up _ everything_.

She yelled until her throat grew hoarse, and didn’t stop the tears that came down her face, not because she didn’t want to but because she knew she couldn’t.

In a ball on the floor, because Pidge could not stand the idea of getting up, she sobbed great, hiccuping, torn, noises into the ground until there wasn’t space left for her to breathe.

Then there was nothing remaining inside of her to let out, no more gasoline to drown in, so Pidge lay still. 

Her tear streaks felt tattooed into her skin, and the cold wrapped around her, like it was trying to swallow her whole. But she didn’t move, and spitefully welcomed the pain that came from prolonged discomfort.

She wished that she could hug her Mom.

She wished that her dad could hold her.

Katie wished she could tell Matt that she was so, so _sorry_.

And the hole ate all of it.

* * *

She’d found her way to her bed, at some point, and fallen asleep, but she didn’t remember it. Her mouth felt gummy and gross when she moved her tongue, and her spit felt sticky and thick. Swallowing hurt her throat, all the way down, and there were small papercut sized nicks spread about her legs and arms from where she’d tried to sleep on bits of broken mug shards. She woke up, coming to awareness about all of this to avoid thinking about the elephant in the room. 

Pidge didn’t know where to go from here, though. People had knocked, a lot at the beginning, and then a few sporadically. She never heard the words, or rather never listened to them. 

She didn’t know how much time had passed between her fight with Lance and the present because she had no idea how long she’d slept for, (it didn’t feel very long at all) but despite her tiredness, sleep didn’t feel appealing anymore. Nothing did at all.

She just wanted to go away.

Pidge inched further under the blankets which weren’t comforting as much as they were enveloping, hoping they might swallow her.

Another knock came at the door, and Pidge tried to block out the words, but it was harder when they weren’t yelling. The yelling all bled together, but this now—it was Hunk. And he sounded upset.

“I put more soup outside your door, Pidge. It’s.. it’s all off to the side, but make sure you don't knock it over when you come out, alright? I really think you’d—” he broke himself off, in a way that made it seem like he was choosing not to finish his sentence purposefully. A very subtle creak sounded, and Pidge guessed he was leaning against the door.

Pidge didn’t actually want to say anything. She’d rather keep quiet—this detachment felt simple, and it was easier for her in the silence. 

But Hunk hadn’t done anything to her or anyone else, and Pidge knew what it felt like to be shoved aside when you were only trying to help. She didn’t want to be like Lance.

“Ok. I. I will.” she wheezed, realizing halfway through that the awful raw feeling was made so much worse when she actually tried to speak through it. It didn’t _ sound _ fantastic either.

“O-Oh! Oh, oh good, thank you, I was—I kinda thought you were sleeping.” he faltered, surprised, and she thought she heard him take his weight off the door. Pidge didn’t understand why he was trying to talk to her if he thought she’d been asleep, but she glazed over it because he seemed caught up about it, through the door.

He paused—maybe expecting Pidge to say another couple words—but when the silence rang on, she heard him speak with a little more urgency than before. Pidge picked up voices from down the hall, also loud and serious with strong intent behind the tones. Probably Shiro, then.

She wondered to herself where Keith was.

“Since you’re awake, I should tell you, we-we’re all leaving. Lance, he, agh—” the voices from down the hall were louder, closer, and Pidge could tell now that the main one definitely belonged to Shiro. He was urging Hunk to do something. Probably leave, but Pidge didn’t know where or why, and through sheer instinct alone the idea of a mission made her legs twitch, as if they knew they were meant to stand.

Hunk made a noise that sounded like frustration, then something muffled Pidge couldn’t catch, like he didn’t want her to hear it.

“Where are you going?” she asked, impatient and a bit frustrated at herself at the scratchiness. The soup sounded like it’d be nice for her throat, but not nice enough to actually get up for it.

Pidge could hear him press his hands up against the door where he was talking, probably to try and make himself louder without raising his voice.

“He took off with Blue when he heard Keith was gone, nobody understands why, we—What?!”

There was shouting—but not the argument type of shouting—this time loud enough for Pidge to pick out the words ‘Lance’, ‘ten dobashs’, and ‘mall’. The last one brought a familiar pain back to her, and it was everywhere now; the only thing she could completely feel.

“—Pidge, are you coming, or not?” he coaxed, and she couldn’t even tell if he wanted her to or not.

Pidge didn’t understand what they were even doing, but if it involved Lance she knew she did not want to get involved. Every time she pictured his face, she could hear the words just as clearly as when he’d said them, see the broken pieces of the adapter-chip beside his foot, and felt a jolt of resentment strike her.

But Lance was Hunk’s best friend, and she couldn’t really tell him that she’d be glad if she didn’t see Lance’s face for the next couple millennia, so she tried to dial herself down.

“I don't think he’d—he’d want to see me.” she rasped, coughing and tasting what she was sure was blood in the back of her throat.

“What? Pidge, he’s not—he’s just lashing out, it’s not that he doesn’t want to see _ you_, he just needs help—”

“Well, he clearly doesn’t need _ my _ help!” Pidge seethed, because Hunk clearly didn’t know about what Lance had said and done—and why would he? Lance probably told them all about what Pidge said, conveniently leaving out his side, but then again, Lance was _ always _ the victim, wasn’t he? 

“I was there when he got lost in the mall. I was scared when he got caught in the explosion. I’ve been worried about him for days, so I try to talk to him and what does he do?”

Pidge tried to stifle the anger that was rising back up again, but words she’d wanted to say for weeks to Lance himself poured out instead; words that had taken the backseat when she was so angry earlier that she could feel nothing else.

“—Act like everything in his whole world is _ my _ fault. At least _ I _can tell when I’m not wanted. He doesn’t need another member to his stupid pity party.” she snapped, glad Hunk couldn’t see her and how wrecked she was, although Pidge was sure he could hear it in her voice just fine.

“Wow, uh, I—” Hunk tried, sounding sympathetic, but was interrupted by yelling from not only Shiro, but also Allura and possibly even Coran, Pidge thought.

Hunk shouted something that Pidge could tell was some lame excuse without even catching the words, before pressing back up against the door.

“Sorry Pidge, We’ll be back soon, please try some soup? Please? I...I promise it’s better than food goo—okay okay, alright—Gotta go Pidge, don’t forget the soup—!” he squawked, voice getting more and more muffled as he got further away from the door and down the halls to meet with the other voices, conversations too distant for her to understand in the slightest.

Pidge listened as the guttural noises of raucous and commotion happening all around the Castle progressively lessened, until she felt more than heard the lions break away, leaving her assumably alone once more aside from the pair of Alteans who she doubted would bother her. It seemed that everyone had far more _ pressing _matters now than whatever Pidge was feeling—but that wasn’t fair, was it?

She’d asked them to leave her alone, multiple times on several occasions. She could even tell herself that she still wanted to be alone now, as fruitless as the effort would be. Pidge would argue until the end that she could handle being alone, she even _ preferred _ it a good amount of the time.

She didn’t like being _ lonel _y, though. And chalk it up to self-pity if you want, but…

But she wished Hunk had stayed. Talked. Even if she wouldn’t come out, wouldn’t come with them, drink his soup—

But he always chose Lance. Everyone _ always _ chose Lance.

And now she was being selfish _ and _ridiculous, but the thought of that didn’t help, just made everything more sour tasting.

Pidge tried to cough, as if to clear the metaphorical bitterness, but was reminded of the stinging, which was fucking_ annoying _ now more than before.

She considered the soup more now, bowls of it (Hunk made it sound like there were….several?) sitting right outside her door, likely still warm. She also considered the state of her throat and, despite her adversity, managed to lug herself out of bed and to the waiting _ four _full bowls of some strange orange soup outside, mindful of not tipping them.

In her bed she grumpily ate it, coming out of her soupy (pun _ so _ intended) fog the more spoonfuls of the well seasoned chowder-like stuff she shoved down.

With it, with better clarity, she remembered the fight. The words, the feelings,_ everything_.

She still didn’t actually regret her part of it, not when just anger and...and _ hurt, _ still sizzled beneath her skin, but she acknowledged the weight of her words better. The gravity of the situation sunk in, and with it, overwhelming grief threatened to drown her once more.

The adapter chip really had been crushed, and the opportunity of the meeting call was long passed. And it _ stung, _ and confused her, and made her so, so _angry_ at Lance.

_ Why_? Why had he….he didn’t even help her up. He’d told her….When had this person who Pidge had once trusted like a br—like a _ friend_, gotten so far away? Turned into someone she hardly recognized?

Pidge felt awfully, hopelessly lost. In the middle of an ocean, stranded alone on the sinking remnants of a raft. She was floating directionless, out of touch and with the connection to the world around her masked by a cloak of thick fog.

She didn’t feel an inspiration to try and work again; she didn’t know if she would for a long, long time, after this. Even though she knew on a wide scale she’d only wasted time and missed a chance, it felt like all of her progress and motivation had been ripped from her. Like there was no point in trying to get it all back and move forward.

She felt helplessly stuck, rooted in her useless place. 

Everyone had left her, trying to find Lance wherever he’d decided to storm off to. But they would be coming back with Lance soon, according to Hunk, and Pidge didn’t want to deal with any of that yet. Maybe tomorrow, when things felt more possible, but she couldn’t handle facing him again now; talking it out and putting things into words and defending points she knew were valid. It was just. Too much.

And with all of the potency of someone who’d been running on just preserves for days, Pidge drifted into unconsciousness, letting the world around her and all of its complications fade away to nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does anyone understand why ao3 screws up the chapter format every time?? Or how I can prevent it?? because fixing it every time is super annoying ahaha  
I have nothing to say about this chapter! I'm worried about what you guys think though :''-) I guess it's messier than usual?? if that makes sense? either way next chapter is THE chapter, so be prepared!! because I'm not lmao!!


	13. finally - part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! It's part one of THE chapter!!! (not the last, some of yall were very concerned) This was so hard to write *swallows* but I think the time was worth it because this baby is a long one >:)  
last chapters unofficial extremely subjectively chosen, lovely comment awards (?) go to MaxxyClownRace, OTZCanary259, Pine_Daddy, Aryanna5323, and Anonymous Penguin. there were so many comments last chapter and I can't describe how much that means to me, but these ones stood out the most I would say!! you guys are so kind :''''''''-)  
ok I'm done talking, now u can feast lmao

The silence that filled Blue was as oppressive as it was charged with debilitating static; static that was flowing absolutely everywhere, swimming inside his skull, his veins. Lance wasn’t sure if he even had control of his body at the moment, feeling more like an observer than inside himself. His hands mechanically gripped the controls, hard enough for his knuckles to lose their color but still not even feeling the strain—still not feeling much of anything.

He tried to get himself to center, he tried to bring himself back, but the more he tried the scarier it seemed, the farther away he was, and the more _ real _ his situation had become. He felt positively _ sick_.

Lance regretted not going straight to bed. Of course he did—bad dreams and visions and, and _ feelings _ were a thing of their own, but this wasn’t something that he could ignore when the metaphorical sun came up. This was _ bad _ bad, and all he could feel was detached regret and building terror as the actuality of his actions began to set in.

He regretted exercising when he should’ve just admitted defeat and lived through another hard night. He regretted fighting with Keith, and running away, and just when he thought his luck couldn’t have been worse—if he thought the most he’d have to deal with was calming himself down locked away in his room for the next hour and worrying about what brash move Keith would try next—he’d literally plowed right into Pidge; a short, moving timebomb.

It’d been stunning at first, through his tunnel vision and confusion still locked in that faraway place he went sometimes. His heart had been in his throat on impact, petrified in such a way he didn’t even consider trying to run, but when he actually realized it was only Pidge the relief was short-lived.

Apparently in the heat of the moment Lance had stepped on one of Pidge’s gadgets, because apparently fate hated him. 

And Pidge was _ mad_.

Honestly, she was angrier than Lance had _ ever _ seen her (even in combat), and it only got worse from there and Lance hadn’t managed to say _ anything_, even when she was practically steaming from the ears.

He was so, so _ scared_.

And Pidge did not notice. She did not let him leave, _ breathe. _

It wasn't her pushing him as much as it was the contact of the wall that snapped him, yanked him out of his trapped stillness and into the lashing fire he was growing more and more used to, the monstrous reflex that had him ready to bounce back teeth bared and swinging.

It had been an _ accident_, why couldn’t she have just understood that? Why couldn’t she see he was _ sorry_, that he was _ scared _ and he just wanted her to stop _ talking_?

He couldn’t remember much of the specifics of his or Pidge’s words, only the jabs and the overwhelming and choking smoke that suffocated him throughout it, and the _ fury _ and burning desire to let her _ hurt _ like _ he _ was hurting.

Until he let words escape him that he never should have. Something he wished he could take back right as it left his mouth.

_ “I’m not the one who’s jeopardizing millions of lives in a pointless quest to find a stupid dead brother! I’m putting things behind me, and you can’t even move on—!” _

The words didn’t feel like his own, and he didn’t mean them just the same, he _ swore _ it. They were untrue and insensitive and created for the sheer purpose of _ hurting_, and he’d _ never—_but yet he’d _ said _them, and….

And Pidge… 

He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t _ want _ to, yet it came to his mind regardless and the things spat at him stung just as bad as they first had. And unlike Lance’s remarks, which felt blatantly like things he never could actually mean, Pidge’s felt like truths. Like she was just letting everything that she _ really _thought of him spill out and bubble over. Like she hated him.

She probably _ did_.

The rest of the team came before he could crash, crowding him and demanding to know what was wrong with Pidge and why there’d be yelling and—and was he _ crying_? Why was he crying, what happened?

Lance could hardly figure out how to answer any of it, swatting away large arms trying to get near him, and he felt himself slipping not for the first time that day. His throat was locking up with guilt and shame at the disappointment and anger they’d have towards him if he told, and more tears stung the corners of his eyes as they threatened to escape. He just wanted to get away from everyone who he kept hurting; who was next, Hunk? Was he going to make Hunk disgusted in him, or Coran or Shiro or Allura or—

Or….Or—

“W-where is….where’s Keith?” Lance asked thickly, thinking at first he was just embarrassing himself and the Red Paladin was simply back in his room after their argument, or training again, but Allura’s faltering gaze and flickering eyes betrayed her.

“_ Allura_?” his eyes bore into her, “Do you...”

The rest he remembered with great, almost unsettling clarity, compared to the rest of his recollection. It wasn’t difficult to understand why.

She told him about their conversation, about Keith’s apparent motives.

She told him that Keith was going back to the mall.

Lance had never felt anything quite like he did at that moment before. Like he was cold, and falling. It felt like something finite.

He was running before he even remembered moving in the first place.

Catching the rest of the team off guard, Lance made it to the hangars and into his Lion at record speed, and they were off just as quickly, leaving the Castle behind them in moments as Blue began automatically guiding them both in the direction Lance asked for.

That’s where they were now, but there was nowhere for Lance to run anymore. Nothing that made as much clear, explicit sense as getting to Blue had.

And everything was catching up to him.

He was going back to the mall. It wasn’t a confident confrontation like it should have been (like he _ wanted _it to have been), really more as it was a blunt description; and describing it as confident would be doing him up more than he deserved. It’d been an abrupt fight or flight compulsion, flinging himself down the hangar and into Blue, but now even that adrenaline was gone and he was left with pulsing, live anxiety. He was a mess. He was spiraling. He was terrified.

The trip gave him _ plenty _ of time to mull and regurgitate and remind himself of everything he was heading towards. He couldn’t even spend the time planning, really, because he didn’t know what he could expect to happen in the slightest. He didn’t know what he’d find, _ who _he’d find, if he would even be able to get out of Blue at all, or if he’d even let himself make it there.

Lance actually knew very well that he could turn around and Blue would happily respect his decision, and he wouldn’t have to face any of it—but he also knew that he really couldn’t. 

Although he viscerally craved the avoidance, Lance knew going back wouldn’t be better. The team were all confused and probably even disturbed with his outburst, they wouldn’t settle for a slight reprimand, they were going to chew him out big time if they met up, and Lance _ literally _ couldn’t deal with that any more than he could deal with any of this. Plus, there was still Keith and he was—_quiznack, _he was...

Lance was practically a live wire at this point, plucked and pulled at and _ raw _ from getting into serious, draining fights with two teammates _ consecutively, _ and now he was running on reserves and fear and panic, and wow, crow—why was his throat was suddenly so _ small? _

Lance tried to list things that he knew for sure at the moment; his Ma always swore that picking things apart made worries seem less impossible and him more focused. It was what she told him to do when he was stressed over a hefty load of homework, or upset over something a classmate was saying about him. She said things were never as big and scary as they seemed.

He was going back, and he was petrified. Those were two things.

And really—he choked—petrified was an understatement.

Lance couldn’t find words to label his terror. Couldn’t put a name on his thoughts as they tore him to shreds.

Keith was there. That was three.

Stupid Keith—stupid _ Lance _ for shoving him, for getting sloppy and acting out. Now look what he’d done.

Look what he’d _ done. _

_ Look what he’d done_.

He’d gone and ruined all of his progress, that’s what he’d _ done_, and what’s worse is that he’d put himself _ and _ Keith on the line, and Keith was there, so he was...what if…

Lance tried not to dwell, he _ really _ did this time, but once he started thinking of it he couldn’t stop, and if anything like _ that _ happened to Keith he would never ever forgive himself because Keith was there for _ him_.

Keith was strong like Lance never was, but she—

She’d held him still like he was _ nothing_, weighed him down so that he couldn’t _ move_, choked the breath out of him with the grip of one hand until he felt like he was _ dying_, and oh _ dios _ he was going back to that room, he was going to see her and he wouldn’t be able to do anything, nobody was going to hear him, nobody would help him, and he was so cogently _ terrified. _

Lance’s hands ghosted up to his throat, feeling heavy and weighted, trying to pry away a fist that didn’t exist, all the while knowing that if he kept breathing like this—all deep and tight—he was going to pass out—no, no he was actually going to _ die_, because he couldn’t breathe at all, oh, oh _ dios no sabía lo que estaba pasando _ he hated this, _ why _couldn’t he….

As quick if the floor was swept out from underneath him, he lost touch and sight then—like he was being swallowed all at once—patches of his face and hands going numb and prickly as he shook, shutting his eyes tight and bringing his knees up to the edge of the chair pressed against the control panel as he heaved in thin gasps of breaths.

Light and pictures and textures hit him at all angles, feeling things slide up against him and squeeze him making him jolt and cry out as gravity began tricking him into thinking he wasn’t even sitting upright, and he might as well not have been because he felt like he was _ falling— _

And then it all came to a rough stop.

From the throes of the surrounding waging storm and what seemed to be from out of nowhere, a great wave of comforting chills hit him; chills that felt strong and, and _ safe, _ that cooled his sweat and gently but _ firmly _reminded him of where and when he was.

It could be nothing other than Blue.

And he nearly fell back into the swing of his hysterics when another current of his Lion’s bond passed over, steadying him like strong, trustworthy hands holding him upright in a powerful display of passionate protection.

He knew it was all in his head, he knew it was his mind playing tricks on him and that he was in his Lion, but things he saw kept blending to things he’s seen and felt even when he knew they were fake. 

He took another attempt at a deep breath and kept his eyes open, and he stopped trying to fight it all at once and instead listened to Blue and allowed her to guide him.

She was telling him to be like water, like the ocean, and let it all pass over him.

Like a river running over stones.

Breathing in and out was easier then, like surfacing and gasping rather than struggling to get air through a soaked towel, and with the recurring waves it only got easier, more controlled, until Lance remembered everything again and felt at the very least present.

Not good, he wasn’t good or really even quite okay, but he was _ there _again, and Blue was pushing up against him still, as if she was trying to scrub away a permanent stain. It was appreciated, but Lance thought that they both knew it would be useless, so he politely nudged her away as he wiped away the wetness dripping down his face.

For once, Blue edged off, not trying to force her way closer against his wishes. Although Lance didn’t understand why, because personal space was not in either of their natures, until he regained the last trickle of his spatial awareness.

He realized that they weren’t moving anymore. The surrounding stars and space debris were sitting still. They’d come to a full stop, floating in space, and Lance had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t something he’d done himself.

Lance sighed tiredly, letting his body shakily melt into the pilot chair. He could feel her intent now, trying to pull him towards the team and away from what she could clearly sense was something Lance was very scared off, even if he wouldn’t let her know what.

He steadied himself by gripping the arms of his chair and planting his feet firmly on the ground to stay where he was and keep himself there, before moving his arms over to the controls, trying to propel them forward, but—

Nothing. Blue was decidedly not budging.

“Blue...Blue keep going, don’t stop, girl. We can’t stop.” he said weakly, the words lacking anything but scratchy yet firm purpose.

She made what Lance could only translate to an incredulous snort, tugging him to return to the Castle, reminding him that she could tell how terrified he was as if he didn’t already know.

Lance only shook his head, still wishing deep down that he could listen to her.

“I _ know, _but I….” he broke off, coming back with no coherent words to present to her, instead electing to send his own waves of pleading towards his Lion as persuasion.

He pressed his fingers into the dashboard and smoothed them in small circles until he felt what he could only identify as a reluctant purr, before clearing his throat quietly.

“Please, girl. I’m better now, promise, I'm okay. It’ll—” he faltered, disbelief harshly washing him over like a swat to the back of the head, before promptly rephrasing, “Just help me get to him. _ Please_, Blue.” he begged, looking around the cockpit as if to address his Lion in her entirety. 

There was first a pause where she stopped purring, as if in thought; considering and calculative like she rarely ever was. Lance held his breath.

After the passing of several moments though, the energy within the room feasibly shifted—and although she still seemed very unsure, her trust in him won over, and Lance could feel the moment she gave helm control back to him. 

He smiled stiffly in gratitude and sent forward mental words of thanks as he smoothly eased Blue back into full speed, wasting no time basking in the small victory. It was too bittersweet for that.

They continued on without communication amongst each other, but whether or not it was at the fault of Lance’s constricting anxiety or Blue’s disapproval at his decision making was beyond him. It didn’t really matter which it was though, only that they were still moving and nothing was stopping them. 

He felt nothing but conflicting emotions and a goal to get Keith back in the Castle in the same condition he’d left in. And fear—incredible, immobilizing fear—but if he was being honest, that went without saying.

It became apparent that his hands and knees trembled more the further they went, and Lance was sure Blue’s presence was the only thing keeping him from slipping away again. That, and the fact that Lance was literally throwing away every thought or worry that tried to plague him before he had the chance to get too hung up.

It all only half worked. 

There was the taste of bile sitting in the back of his throat and a current of slick potent nausea that made him viciously dizzy and ill. It was like that very first day in his room right after, how he felt like he was almost feverous with repulsion and shame. Only this time, he reminded himself, he was choosing to endure it. He tried to keep reminding himself that. It kept the buzzing in his skin down.

He tried visualizing a beach on a hot day. The towel he’d laid out so that the sand wouldn’t burn his back, the warm heat of the sun slowly baking him. He pictured himself stepping over a line of seafoam, the cool feeling of his feet touching cold, wet sand. He felt waves lap at his legs and then torso until he had to stand on his toes to keep his face dry, and then he felt himself dive; entirely encompassed by the pulsing deep blue as he swam with his eyes wide open and nearly immune to the salty water from a life of practice.

He tried to meticulously picture as many features of this imaginary beach as possible, everything from the sky to the sand to the sea to the traffic, the noises and smells—but there was nothing his mind could conjure that would detach him from the spell of gross hyper-awareness that overcame him when Blue came to a stop at last. When he couldn’t even rely on his hands to pilot them to the ground.

They made it anyway, with the help of Blue, and her jaw opened and neck lowered too quickly and agonizingly slowly at the same time, beckoning him out.

It was his stop. The end of the road.

He could feel a current of heat brush the sweat of his face, even from where he sat, and could see warm light filtering in through the opening his Lion had created. It reflected dully off the smooth ancient metal that furnished the insides of all the lions, contorting the color to a more saturated shade. Lance thought he could hear the distant muffled roar of the crowds overlapping conversations, even though he wasn’t sure if he was close enough to the mall yet to actually be in hearing distance.

It was subtle as it was—probably interpreted to most as irrelevant background noise, but to Lance, it could be heard in full and registered as its own entity. The unique soundtrack that played in his head whenever he dreamed of moment after excruciating moment in that room.

Lance reminded himself that this is what he _ wanted_, but the conviction felt dead even to him. It wasn’t _ really _ what he _ wanted_, it was what he knew he had to do, and there was a difference.

He stood shakily, and never before had the phrase ‘limbs like jelly’ been so accurate. All of his muscles were weak from constant tension and stress, and his steps felt heavy and leaden. Like there were chains fixed there, and he was dragging a world of weight behind him.

It felt, for all it was, like he was walking into his own grave. Each step brought him closer to his end. It was horrifically surreal.

The exit point of his Lion seemed to arrive faster than he was walking, and before he knew it he was actually outside of Blue and on the ground floor of the docking port.

His eyes squinted at the sudden surrounding light, blinking fast, before clarity came once again to reestablish his dread.

From here, he could actually see the mall.

It looked so wrongly innocent that it screamed ‘trap’ to him, the people walking in and out entirely oblivious. All of which’s eyes seemed locked on _ him_.

It made Lance feel targeted and….and exposed and judged and _ hated_, like in each of their eyes was disappointment and disgust. Was this _ really _ a Paladin of Voltron? How was _ he _ meant to defend anyone, when he couldn’t defend himself? It is _ pathetic_.

His hands grabbed fistfuls of his shirt as they tightened, all the way until his nails were digging into him even through the cloth.

Lance felt _ sick_, and _ small_—crow, he couldn’t do this, he couldn't—

He was turning on his heels, ready to retreat back behind the safety and strength of Blue’s walls, when he caught a glimpse of, of wait….was that...?

Lance froze.

He’d recognize that mullet _ anywhere. _

He turned back, frantically looking further into the crowd of people leaving the mall, and—there! Lance spotted Keith, pushing his way through reptilian folk recklessly. It was like a breath of fresh air, and he felt something unlock in his chest—almost like relief but not quite so calming—but the thing was that Keith….didn’t look so good.

He could see that he looked scared. And lost. Like he was reaching out aimlessly for a lifeboat that nobody was going to throw.

Lance shuddered in memory.

Despite himself—despite everything, really—Lance began taking steps towards Keith and into the hoards of people, all nudging and prodding him, wading his way over and keeping his eyes on Keith’s terribly outdated haircut and nothing else.

He couldn’t pinpoint the moment Keith finally noticed him with all the moving bodies, but the change in expression that came with his gaze moving from up towards Blue to _ seeing _him was drastic. 

He looked like he’d seen a ghost; face going noticeably paler and eyes widening marginally. 

Lance saw himself in Keith, but only until the next person blocked his view, and then it was gone.

He crossed the distance with a sudden confidence he’d lacked for longer than he’d like to admit, and the moment he was in range looked Keith over, _ closely_.

He was sweaty—_very _ sweaty, which made sense because he’d probably been at the mall for the better part of an hour (if he had the timeline right in his head) and still had a fish out of water expression that never faltered. His face also shined, but—and Lance was looking if anything too intently—was unscathed. Similarly so was his neck, and he seemed to have been walking fine, and what was exposed of his arms and wrists were normal and—

Lance's shoulders untensed, just a little.

He looked okay. He looked like a pit-stained version of his usual self.

Except for his expression, and posture, which were both rigid.

Lance was slowly realizing that he may have misread the scenario, and that he might have actually screwed up leaving Blue, big time.

“What—Lance, what on _ Earth _are you doing here?” Keith enunciated sharply, swallowing around his words and snapping Lance into focus. He still seemed breathless and shocked, but somehow not angry as Lance expected. Just..worried, maybe. In a frantic sort of way.

Yep, definitely jumped to conclusions there, because although Keith seemed physically normal, he hadn’t spent his time at the mall _ spring shopping_.

It couldn’t mean anything good.

Lance would’ve mustered up an affronted and half-hysterical snort if he wasn’t struggling so bad to keep his thoughts straight, just at the sheer _ audacit _y Keith always seemed to keep in surplus at all times.

“What am _I—” _Lance shouts incredulously, “_No_, Keith, what are_ you_ doing here! Why—” his eyes caught on what Keith was holding for the first time, having focused for so long on his stupid hair, and if he wasn’t already so used to jumping off the deep-end he probably would have lost all of his composure right there. 

Even so, he couldn’t quite stop his breath from imperceptibly catching as fear grasped and threatened to throw him when he stared back at himself in the reflection of _ his helmet_. “Where—how did you find that?” he squeaked, voice embarrassingly thick with the effort of trying to be heard above the crowd.

Keith doesn’t even look down at the gear for a second. His eyes remain on Lance’s face in a way that looked like he was searching for something, but the fear remained present starkly, and Lance didn’t _ like _ what that meant.

“N-never mind, just forget it—I don’t _ care _ how you found it, I,” he scrubbed his face, trying to keep himself in the present so he didn’t embarrass himself in public and in front of Keith when things still didn’t make sense. “Keith. _ Why _ are you _ here_?” 

Keith’s eyebrows knit together as he purses his lips, and Lance was ready to _ scream _in his face if he just felt like it would be okay to simply ignore him, but then...

“I came because Hunk told me you were missing your helmet and bayard here from our trip to the mall. He told me that you’d lost them,” he insisted slowly and far too carefully, but Lance knew that he was _ lying _ because when had Keith ever done something out of the kindness of his heart for _ Lance_? 

The last time they’d seen each other earlier that day was when Lance shoved him to the floor, and fuck, Keith had been nosy _ then_. He must’ve gone around asking after their fight and gone to Hunk, and Hunk must’ve told him everything about their interaction because he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life, and that meant…

That meant…

“So, what, you came,” he gestured around them madly, disguising the thickness of his words with anger and disbelief, “Came all the way out here to, to what? To fetch me my things? Do me a favor, then?” he asked, trying to keep the fear from his voice. Keith had gotten his helmet and bayard, it meant he’d been to that room, and that meant….

He couldn’t know, there was no _ way_.

“Yes. I-I mean, _ no_, I…” Keith dropped his gaze, putting his hands through his already frizzy hair. The air around the mall was thick with humidity in a way that stuck to you. Lance hated it.

“No, it’s _ not—_this isn’t about me!” Keith said, vindicating himself.

Lance could feel his pulse racing, yet he had no option but to cling to his bluff.

“Uh, sorry Keith but that isn’t up for you to decide?” he mouthed, but his false bravado was cracking.

Keith visibly bristled at that.

“You’re the one who followed me here! And you’ve had weeks to get it yourself, it’s you who I should be asking! Why do you care why _ I’m _ here?” Keith retorted, but through everything Lance could never quite say he was _ angry_.

Lance floundered for a response, and even though he was properly cornered he refused to cave. That would mean giving up everything he’d been working towards for weeks at the face of Keith being an asshole, and that _ couldn’t _happen.

“I came because it’s weird, you idiot! We fought, and then you just decided you wanted to do me a favor?” Lance spat with impertinence, but Keith was already shaking his head, looking frustrated.

“Will you quit jumping around the subject, look I—” he looks at the sky, and at first Lance is wondering why on _ earth _Keith is looking at the sky, but…. 

“Is the rest of the team coming, or—or nevermind, it doesn’t matter, just—”

The rest of the—

Oh....Oh _ shit! _

Lance had completely forgotten about them, and the way this conversation was going—

Having everyone all together talking about him was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid, and they were still at the mall, and god, Keith might _ say _ something in front of _ everyone. _

Lance looked down at his hands, willing them to stop shaking. Willing the planet to stop moving for a few minutes to let him _ think _and figure it all out.

Keith took a step forward and Lance instantly took one back, hip bumping against a passing person, reminding him he was surrounded and that there was no escape from this. He was trapped, he couldn’t run away again, and he couldn’t solve it when his brain was throbbing.

“Lance, please calm down,” Keith asked quietly and not at all rudely, but Lance still hated how he was saying it like it was something easy, like he was asking him to flip on a lightswitch, and like he _ cared_.

“I _ am _ calm—!” Lance insisted, which would have been all fine and well if his voice hadn’t decided to crack halfway through. 

Keith looked like he wanted to get closer again, but thought better of it. It was for the best, because Lance was getting close to losing it again, he could feel it. He was standing at the edge of a cliff with his eyes closed tightly.

“What _ happened_?” Keith tried again, slowly, when Lance wasn’t talking anymore because he didn’t trust himself to. “Why did you lose these, who did you fight?” 

Lance breathed, then clenched his hands as hot _ anger _struck him. He welcomed it, it rescued him from the detachment and fear he loathed so much.

“I _ told _ you who I fought! I told you everything, and you all laughed! Why do you always have to blow _ everything _ out of the waters, it was just a _ girl_—”

“You’re lying! You’re _ still _ lying!” Keith said, irritation, hurt and disbelief lacing his yell, and now it was Lance’s turn to wince at just how _ much _ it was. It _ stung_. Keith plowed on regardless.

“That’s _ never _ been true_, _ Lance! We both know it wasn’t just a—just be honest, explain it to me. _ Please _ just explain, I’m _ listening_!”

Well..._ quiznack_.

The anger evaporated all at once as Lance’s bloodstream turned to water running over lava. That was it. Keith knew now, he must have, why else would he be asking, this couldn’t be happening, _ así no_—

Lance stood as his lungs shrunk and his legs grew weaker, feeling as if the whole world was crumbling around him. He could tell with Keith’s tone, the way he looked at him with such intent and uncharacteristic _ pity _ that he’d definitely found something in that room, that he wasn’t going to believe Lance no matter what he said—but he couldn’t face that reality, he refused to, this couldn’t be happening he’d been so _ careful_—

“I don’t know what you want me to say—”

“I want you to say that it wasn’t a goddamn _ fight _ Lance!” Keith shouted over him, voice not loud in volume but screaming in intent. Lance could _ feel _ people staring. 

“I want to know if...if…” Keith stuttered, paused, and then spoke much more assuredly.

“If you can look me in the eyes right now and tell me that you went in that room and you _ fought _ her, she _ fought _ you, the way that _ you _ meant it was—then I’ll let it go, and _ hell_, I’ll believe you! And we can go back to hating each other and being rivals, and I’ll leave you alone for good and just _ drop it. _ ” he said. Keith looked determined and pained, and Lance thought he could see _ him _trembling.

“But I need to hear you_ say _ it.”

Lance was free falling. 

It felt like everything was in slow motion, but in the worst way possible. Like watching a car crash and noticing each individual spark and piece of glass fly by as the metal collided.

He felt like he was in the car. He didn’t think he could survive this. He didn’t know if he wanted to anymore.

The thing was that it didn’t matter how desperate Lance was to speak, didn’t matter how much he wished he could spew out everything Keith needed to hear and more and ramble about it and laugh at his own expense like he always seemed to be good at.

What mattered was that he could not do it.

He wasn’t even able to bring himself to open his mouth. His teeth were glued together, lips sewn shut. For once, Lance didn’t notice anyone else but him and Keith. It felt like they were entirely alone in the universe.

He didn’t meet Keith’s eyes. As the seconds ticked by, he still didn’t, until it was clear that he never would. He never _ could_.

The silence was enough. It was _ deafening_.

Lance couldn’t see Keith and couldn’t hear him either, yet knew with _ crystal clarity _ what he must’ve looked like. He could feel his eyes on him, the _ disgust_, and _ assumptions_, seeing him how Lance had seen himself when he’d looked in the mirror. Seeing something gross and unsalvageable.

It was worse than any failure Lance had ever experienced. It was complete and utter degrading _ shame_.

“Fuck.” Keith said, barely a ghost of a whisper but breaking the stretch, and Lance wished the ground would just swallow him. “Okay Lance, Lance _ please, _just…”

He didn’t get to finish. The roaring noise of something from above enveloped it.

It was the sound of aircrafts—when he looked he saw it was the Lions, only two of them—that took their attention, and Lance could almost taste his own pulse. He could hear his heart pounding as his stomach flipped violently.

His head whipped to Keith.

_ He’s going to tell them. _

“You...you can’t tell the others, Keith. You _ can’t. _” he begged urgently. Lance wasn’t even trying to preserve his dignity. It didn’t exist. He knew in Keith’s eyes he was already less than nothing, but he couldn’t live with Allura seeing him that way, or Coran, or Hunk, Shiro—anyone else.

He would rather die.

Keith looked even worse than before, face flushed and torn.

_ “Lance—_”

“No no, Keith, _ swear _to me that you won’t tell them, you need to promise—”

“Then _ you _ tell them then!” Keith shot back, desperate yet persistent, “You need _ help_, Lance, you can’t—crow, you’ve been...this happened _ weeks _ ago, you’ve….” he choked, looking ill, “I can’t let you do this to yourself anymore, I can’t watch you silently, knowing that…” _ that he wasn’t fit to be a Paladin, that he was ruining team Voltron, that everything was being thrown off kilter because he couldn’t leave it behind him, because he was so laughably weak— _

Lance knew it already, but he was _ selfish_, and needed Keith to keep his mouth shut so that Lance could keep pretending everything was okay until he was fine again.

“I c-can’t, Keith. I can’t. _ Please_, don’t tell them, they’ll hate me, they’ll never even want to talk to me—!”

“How can you _ think that_?” Keith gasped weakly, but Lance was shaking his head.

“Please—” Lance ignored him and looked closely, showing his sincerity, “Keith I..I can tell you whatever you want to know when we get back, to the Castle.”

Keith didn’t look sure, he just looked like he was thinking, and the Lions were close to landing now. Time was running low and it was running low _ fast._

“I promise, I swear on my life, I will!” Lance pleaded, feeling more and more horrified as they got closer, and it was just like last time and Lance’s heart was plummeting, because if Keith didn’t agree—

“Okay,” Keith spoke. Lance’s brain crashed to a stop. “Okay, we’ll….we’ll talk about it somewhere else, but not the Castle—too many questions—just, just follow me and Red, we’re going somewhere where we won’t be interrupted,” he pressed his lips together, frowning,

“I promise not to say anything to anyone unless it...involves your safety. But we are _ talking, _right when we’re alone, okay?”

Lance nodded, because it was literally all that he could do.

Keith bobbed his head curtly—reluctantly—in response.

It wasn’t a win—_god_, it was _ almost _ the furthest thing from that—so Lance wouldn’t pretend it was, but it _ was _a relief. Keith was keeping quiet, for now. He wasn’t telling anyone.

But the price for that…

Lance didn’t think about it yet, as he turned his back to Keith and ran back to Blue. He kept his mind on preparing to tail Keith—wherever they were going—and getting far far away from the mall.

Lance tried to clench his hands against the controls, but they’re shaking so hard he almost can’t do it.

Then, Lance breathed.

It’s all he can do.

* * *

“—Keith! Keith, come in, respond! What’s going—”

“Shiro!” Keith spouted, adjusting his helmet after having the comms off the whole time, “I’m back, sorry, I was busy. I couldn’t—”

“What’s going _ on _ Keith?” Shiro shouted right into the speakers, causing Keith to wince. “You have to tell me what’s happening, I’ve...We’ve _ all _been worried sick about you two. Is Lance with you? We’re about to land at the docking port, it’s just me and Hunk, because—well that’s not important just...Please, explain what’s going on. Why are Lance and you not responding, are you both okay?” he paused—Keith assumed it was to get in a breath of air—but he interrupted before Shiro could start up again.

“I’m sorry about not responding, and worrying you, but I’m fine. We’re both,” Keith swallowed, mouth dry, “Fine. It was just a bad misunderstanding, but we talked it out, and now it's good.” Keith said shallowly, getting back to Red. Shiro wasn’t having it.

“That isn’t enough, Keith, this is serious. I can’t let it slide this time, I know something’s going on between you two, it’s time to stop being vague. Where is Lance?”

Keith could almost laugh. He recognized the irony of the situation.

Too bad he was closer to screaming.

“Lance is in Blue now, I think,” right after they’d agreed on terms Lance had gone straight to Blue, and Keith trusted that he wouldn’t risk flying away again, “And he’s...going to follow me. We’re leaving the mall, so don’t dock.”

“That doesn’t explain why he wasn’t responding, and you are going to the Castle, right? If you’re both fine, then _ what _ is happening?” he noticeably lowered his voice a few notches, before adding, “Is this about what you asked me before? About being worried about Lance?”

Keith opened his mouth to answer, but he closed it before he could say anything. 

“I..I can’t tell you.” he said faintly.

There was a pause where shock tainted the air as Keith reached his Lion, running up the ramp when she opened her jaw for him.

“....What does _ that _mean?” Shiro asked, and if Keith didn’t know him, he’d think it was meant to be threatening. But he did, so he knew Shiro was worried, and scared. It made him want to reassure him, but he couldn’t. Not now.

“Keith, what’s going on?” someone asked, but it wasn’t Shiro. The voice belonged to Hunk, and immediately guilt churned stronger within him.

Keith told Hunk that he’d fill him in when he got back. He’d promised. Hunk had put his trust in him, he’d _ thanked _him. 

It was a promise he was going to have to break—or at least put on hold—for the sake of honoring Lance’s. He was a higher priority right now, and they would understand. They _ would_.

“I’m sorry Hunk, Shiro, you guys are going to have to trust me. I’m handling it.”

Keith was glad they were on an audio transmission. He could feel Hunk’s hurt at his betrayal, Shiro’s urgent disappointment and confusion, in his bones.

“Buddy, you don’t have a choice on this—”

“You’re right, I don’t. I’m going to figure this out, for now you two need to leave me and Lance alone to talk. Pass the message onto the rest of the team.” he said, moving to find the comm switch as he got into Red, said Lion already powering up and preparing to get the hell out of dodge.

“No Keith _ wait_, listen—!” Shiro shouted desperately, but Keith effectively talked over him.

“It’s going to be okay. Don’t try to follow us, we’ll be back soon. Bye, guys.”

And with that, ignoring the shouting demands and pleas of the others, he flipped the switch.

Silence ensued, except for the brilliant grinding noise of Red propelling them up and away from the mall and its planet.

Keith watched as Lance followed suit right behind him, and it was all the assurance he needed to strengthen his resolve. Forcibly, he might add. Inside, he felt like he was crumbling, and it was taking everything he had to keep a level head.

And it wasn’t all horror and guilt like it’d been at first.

Lance had been....he’d been _ hurt_.

And there was somewhere out there who’d _ done it. _

And that monster was walking free, without care or remorse.

Now there was _ hatred_, and it was tearing Keith entirely apart.

If Keith thought he’d known hate before—and oh boy had he plenty of people in his life to loathe—he’d been dead wrong. He didn’t think he’d ever felt such a strong surge of absolute abhorrence to anyone in his life, so much so that it nearly took him by surprise. He was literally trembling with rage, she’d _ broken _ Lance, she’d fucking taken him and just _ destroyed _him and then left him to pick up the pieces of himself that she’d shattered.

Keith was going to kill her. He wanted to turn Red around at that very moment and search the planet until he found her and gave her what she so horribly deserved, and he didn’t care what that made him.

But he _ couldn’t_. Lance was _ here_, right now, and how Keith performed during their future conversation was more important than his vendetta. He couldn’t fall apart when Lance needed at the very least a shoulder to lean on. He might be horrible at it, but goddammit he was going to _ try. _

Don’t get him wrong though, Keith had no intention of letting Lance keep it a secret. But he didn’t plan on double crossing him either. He didn’t know how he could get through this situation with a win-win outcome, but it was the only option he’d accept. He couldn’t lose Lance’s trust, and he couldn’t lose Lance either.

So he wouldn’t succumb to his horror and guilt yet. He wouldn’t let rage and disdain burn through him. He wouldn’t fall down that hole before he knew Lance was going to be okay, and he _ definitely _ couldn’t do that with the team hovering around them. He’d figured about that much with Lance having a meltdown before his eyes and a timer ticking, pressure weighing him down starkly, but beyond getting away he was pretty much winging it. A dangerous game, but as long as Keith played his cards right…

He could help Lance. Like he, someone, _ anyone_—should have from the start.

But things weren’t looking good. One step in the wrong direction and he’d lose Lance, possibly forever. He knew from being in Lance’s position how quickly one could shut themselves away, and he knew how much damage it could do. Damage that Lance, clearly, couldn’t afford to take. Keith saw how _ scared _he was, and now that he had context for their interactions and a picture to reference and it was all coming together Keith knew that—

He knew that Lance wasn’t okay. He hadn’t been for weeks.

And he’d been doing it all alone.

And Keith had just made it _ worse_. He’d invaded his privacy, made fun of him in front of the team, guilt tripped him, he’d _ grabbed his arm— _

—But, Keith reminded himself, this was _ not _the time. He didn’t have long before the team got all together and possibly decided to wormhole, and he also didn’t want to keep Lance waiting. It was time to get his act together and think things through.

He skimmed through the analytics of every planet they neared, passing any of the ones that didn’t fit his broad criteria, until eventually locking in on one that fit; it had an atmosphere habitable for humans, was not populated by sentient life, and didn’t seem to pose any immediate threat in its temperature, flora or fauna. He didn’t research anything beyond that, simply setting course and letting Red guide them there.

Keith checked, making sure Lance was still behind him (he was) before letting himself breathe, trying to get his heart rate as low as possible. He felt like there was an entire chorus of drums pounding beneath his chest. When he swallows, he swallows bile.

Unlike the trip to the mall which felt terribly drawn out, they made it to the planet fast. Too fast. Keith was _ not _prepared, kind of fast, getting himself calmed down be damned. He might as well have just finished a marathon.

Keith lands Red slowly and carefully, as if it matters at all to the wide expanse of meadows and boulders surrounding them. He’s more interested still in watching Lance land, which he does normally.

He gets out of Red, and he sees Lance get out of Blue, and they both end up standing together a good distance apart near a boulder with a rigid notch on its side. The rock’s a warm grey color, mostly, with little specks of red and gold that glittered when they hit the light. Keith watched it intently. The breeze cools his face.

Keith knows he’s going to have to start the conversation somewhere, but the atmosphere around them is so horrendously tense that Keith finds it a struggle to draw in breaths. 

He doesn’t dare look at Lance—not closely, at least. Nothing behind short glances that can’t last more than a second at a time. He can feel that Lance’s doesn’t have his eyes on him either. Neither of them want to be the one to break the standoff. 

He figures it should be him though. He doesn’t want to address it, and he sure as hell does not know how, but he should. He knows he should.

He can’t just say it outright though. Keith can afford to beat around the bush just a little more. He can give Lance that, at the very least.

Keith roughly gulps instead of clearing his throat—less audible that way—and tests the words inside of his head to weigh them before reluctantly and slowly letting them out.

“I’m sorry for not letting you know I left,” he says, and he really is. Even though he can’t bring himself to regret it, he’s sorry about it. Specifically, he’s sorry for putting Lance in a position where he had to follow him. He’s sorry for making him go back to the mall. 

He’s been making a lot of selfish, reckless decisions lately. He’s going to stop that cycle, here and now. “I should have told you.”

Lance has nothing to say about that. He won’t look at him.

“I came because I was worried. Because I wanted to know what was wrong. I didn’t think…”—that _ this _is what he’d end up finding. That he’d been the prick all along, making the shit Lance had been dealing with worse tenfold rather than helping with it—”I didn't think it through,” is what he says, “And I’m sorry about that.”

He frowns, face set with determination.

“But we both know that I’m not going back to the Castle until I’m sure you’ll be okay.” he insists. The wind picks up for a second, blowing hair into his face that he tucks willfully back behind his ear.

Keith expects this to be the right way for Lance to get on talking after paving the road for him to speak, that he’s done his part and now it’s just time for him to listen.

“I’m fine.” he says instead, shortly, eyes stubbornly glued to the floor.

Keith doesn’t quite scoff, but he does cough something similarly incredulous.

“Lance.”

“I said I’m _ fine_.” 

Keith sighs a puff of air, knowing that even Lance has to feel the ridiculousness of his blatant lie. They _ both _ know that Lance isn't _ fine_. He isn’t frustrated with Lance, he’s frustrated that he’s drawing this out and making it harder on his own self. 

Keith realizes that this isn’t something he can duck around, Lance isn’t going to start talking about anything until he has to. Keith….Keith doesn’t think he even _ can. _

His nails tap absently against the side of his leg, his lips pursed tight with his jaw locked.

He’s gonna have to just fucking say it.

He parts open his mouth, closes it, and then goes for it.

“You were…” he heaves, “Lance, you were ra—”

“_ Don’t _ say it!” Lance abruptly snaps, causing Keith to reel back a bit, before taking in a breath and saying in a quieter, more asking but still honed tone, “ _ Please, _ don’t say it.” 

Keith doesn’t. He didn’t want to, and now he knows he didn’t need to. He still feels atrociously nauseated with the affirmation. It was sickening, _ repulsive_, knowing something like that had just...that someone would….

He looked at Lance to see that his face was cherry pink, and he never met Keith’s eyes. Keith meant to spout out an apology, but he was afraid of the response. He was afraid of hurting Lance even more than he already was.

“It’s just….” Lance starts, with the tone of someone who just wanted to get it all over with. “I... do you remember w-when,” he cleared his throat, but it didn’t seem to help. His voice stayed high and plucky, and he kept swallowing. He didn’t cry, although his glossy eyes and stuffy words made it seem like he was struggling very hard not to.

Still, the words seemed to spill out like a pipe finally cleared of its pluggage, almost thoughtlessly.

“When you and Hunk left. I went to a store and, and y’know, I,” he laughed, his lips twitching up in a spasming sort of way, but it sounded more like a sob, “I thought it’d be fun. She seemed so, so _ n-nice, _ and I—” he stopped, furiously wiping away a tear. “It’s so dumb now, it was so _ obvious_, but, but I...she told me to follow her, and Keith, she was so _ big_, I just thought—” he choked, “I-I don’t, I don’t _ know_, I figured it out, but she didn’t listen, she’d thrown my helmet, she couldn’t tell what I was saying, and nobody heard me. I told her to _ stop_, and she _ never_—”

“Stop.” Keith said, feeling real pain puncture his abdomen when Lance flinched. “_ Fuck_, no—sorry, you don’t have to...that’s enough. I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anymore.” he stumbled through the apology, his arm twitching forward, like it had a brain of his own and wished it could slap Keith’s own face for his horrible inability to say something good and considerate.

“I’m so sorry.” he said, clearly and sincere, but he couldn’t keep the thickness from his own voice. He was periodically swallowing, trying to get the hoarse quality down. He couldn’t think of anything else to say to fill the space, hearing Lance say the words—sounding so _ mortified _ and _ scared_—had turned his blood to ice.

Lance didn’t say anything for a long while. A full, tense minute must’ve passed with nothing to hear but the breeze and gentle serene wildlife noises. The whole time Keith was straining to figure out where to go with this, how to direct the conversation, he was not _ good _at this and it was showing and he didn’t want to force Lance into saying any more than he’d already had to. But then Lance cleared his throat; stiffly, like he was trying to do it as quickly as possible.

“Well,” he said, his voice still holding a gravelly quality to it, “I guess it’s time to go back, and you can tell the team, laugh a little—” 

Keith shot back, eyes widening, grossly offended at the mere thought.

“I _ won’t _ tell anyone, I would never—” he defended, but it didn’t seem like Lance cared to hear his response, because he talked right over him. The wrathful tone from earlier was back.

“What then?” he hissed, “Why—what was even the point?”

Keith managed to feel a spike of his own anger through his guilt and misery—_why was it so hard for Lance to understand that Keith doesn’t hate him, that he cared_—but it was quickly swallowed. It couldn’t survive against how fucked up this all was. This was wrong. This was so wrong.

“I was concerned—”

“You're not _ concerned_! Don’t you _ dare _ say that!” Lance spits disbelievingly, “You haven’t felt concerned for _ me _ a day in your life! There’s something else, there _ has _to be, and I want you to tell me.”

To Lance’s growing rage, Keith shakes his head. He wasn’t _ right_, but....but he also wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t _ just _ concern, and there _ was _ something else, but the words were locked inside of him.

“Tell me!” he shouts, pushing Keith backward with both hands confrontationally.

“_ Tell me_—_! _” he yells, but it’s cut off at the end with a quiet intake of breath. Something seems to click hard in his head as he breaks off, almost like a physical switch has been flipped. He takes a step back, resentment in his eyes still, but with something else. Something darker.

Keith just knows that it isn’t good. 

“...Was this all just a...a _ game _to you?”

Keith’s stomach coils unpleasantly. _ No. _

Lance’s eyes widen, marginally, before his lips twitch up in a sardonic imitation of a smile.

“Oh—Oh I _ understand_,” he says, his voice awfully clipped.

“_ No _ Lance—”

“So that’s what this was to you, right? Something for you to win? A little scavenger hunt to entertain yourself with, another way to beat me?” he asks sharply, voice slicing up Keith’s insides. There aren’t any words on his mind or his tongue this time around. Nothing beyond the burning, searing chagrin.

“Well you won, asshole. Now you know. Do you want a prize? A trophy?”

He just wanted to help, just wanted to fix what was wrong.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself. I hope you're _happy_.”  
_...Right?_

“That was never what this was.” Keith says, although it was more a plea than a statement. Like he was begging Lance to look into his eyes and _ see _ that he was _ wrong._

“What _ was _ it then?” he laments, but now Keith can finally see that the anger is an act. Keith can see that he is breaking. Lance is falling apart, _ right _in front of him.

He takes his time finding the right words, stringing them manually into sentences. 

“You...when I saw you for the first time, when you first got to the Castle, you didn’t look right,” he explains, “And then again when we fought, and….” Keith remembered his expression exactly. The image was seared into his mind, and….and now it was dawning on him _ why. _ “You haven’t looked like _ you_, for _ weeks_.”

Lance scoffs, but it’s lackluster.

“Well forgive me for not acting myself—”

“No, no that’s not what I—” he stops to rephrase, “You looked like _ me_. And people I’ve seen...growing up. It might’ve been frustration and rivalry to begin with, but that’s not _ why. _I couldn’t leave you be without knowing for sure.”

Keith was saying things as he realized them, labeling feelings and thought processes he didn't recognize had even occurred. As he did so, the picture came together easier, and so did the sentences.

“...I reminded you...of you?” Lance asked incredulously, but he was also confused, Keith could tell.

“Well okay, not _ me_, more like…” he didn’t want to say the words, Keith wasn’t good at talking about this stuff either. It’d taken years of Shiro coaxing him out of his shell to even ask him to turn the AC in the car up, but now Keith was in Shiro’s position—more or less. And Lance needed that help now.

He took a deep breath, and plunged.

“Like _ trauma_.” he says.

He watched as the provocative eir left Lance all together. He watched him _ stiffen_, but he couldn’t watch too closely because he could feel heat rising to his own face.

“I don’t have the same experience you have, and I’m not saying I do, but…” Keith has to swallow the stickiness down, the words feeling like glass climbing up his throat.

“But I know what it feels like. To be...to be hurt by someone, in a way you’re never supposed to. To feel like you’re not even a human.”

Really, he only half remembers what it felt like living in the group homes, and shifting from one foster parent to the next. Not like it hurts any less to think about, just as if it’s more distant. A faraway world that he is no longer a part of.

Keith’s digging it up now though, unearthing the old pain and thoughts all over again, and _ fuck _ does it sting but if it can do anything to lessen Lance’s burden then god it is _ worth _ it.

Keith swallows again, hard, willing the words to come forward.

“To feel worthless. And...and scared.”

He looks up, unaware of when he’d ever even lowered his head, and sees that Lance is shaking. He’s hugging himself tightly, chin tucked against his shoulder with his cheeks dusted pink, but Keith could see his lip wobbling. His thumb came up and wiped his eyes quickly.

“But you’re _ not_.” Keith continued firmly, shuffling a centimeter closer. “Shiro knows you’re not, Hunk knows you’re not, Allura, Pidge, Coran—and I sure as _ hell _don’t think that way about you.”

At that, Lance jostles. Then he sniffs, jerking his head from side to side.

“P-Pidge does. We….” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth thickly. He looks miserable and horribly guilt-ridden.

“We fought, and I..._ Dios_, I told her that her family was _ d-dead_, Keith.” he says hoarsely. Keith draws back, lightly stunned.

“She hates me. I know she hates me, she told me that…” his words get cut short with a constricted sob, but he doesn't seem to want to continue them anyway. 

Keith frowns in contemplation, furrowing his eyebrows. So that’s why Pidge hadn't shown up along with Shiro and Hunk, he’d been wondering.

It didn’t change anything.

“Lance, no matter what you said to each other, I know she doesn’t hate you. She can’t. Friends... they fight—”

“But this was a _ bad _fight,” Lance countered, red-faced, “And I. I fucked up Keith, I really did, I—” he gagged, his voice frantic and high. He can hear his heavy breathing around the words, his tiny intakes of breath. Keith panics, waving his hands in a placating way.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, listen,” he says carefully, “She might be angry, but think about it. Really think—would Pidge _really_ hate you, over one argument? And just never forgive you? Does that _sound _like the Pidge you know?” he mediates. Lance pauses, stifling his heavy breathing for only a moment.

“I d-don’t, I don’t _ know_—”

“Yes you do.” Keith urges, “You know Pidge, you know how irrational she can be, but also how, uh, logical. This isn’t the end of your friendship, it’s just a bump.” he takes as big of a step closer as he dares, and is thankful when Lance doesn’t take one back. “And no matter how bad it is, never in a million years would she ever think you’re worthless. I _ promise _that.”

It’s quiet again now, and the air isn’t tense anymore with it, as much as it’s fragile. Keith has no idea if he’s saying the right thing, but _ god _ he sure hopes he is. He hopes Lance’s silence is him dwelling on the meaning behind what Keith's saying, and not a symptom of recluding himself even further away. He hopes that all of this isn’t a huge fucking mistake.

Then, Lance makes a noise. Like he’s crying, sobbing, but trying to swallow it.

Keith sees that he _ is _crying, and the sight of it just about breaks something in his chest.

There are tears running all the way down his cheeks and plipping to the floor, or absorbing into his shirt in patches. His chest is heaving, shoulders spasming, yet that one repressed noise is the only audible sound. Until he speaks.

“I just don’t know what to do now,” he whispers, voice coming out as a quavering rasp. He can see that Lance is also swallowing compulsively, trying to get his throat less choked. 

It’s so different from the Lance that had pushed him, the one that’d yelled and fought with Pidge, but Keith was able to recognize now that they’re one in the same. That it’s all _ Lance_. Different fragments and pieces, but the same person regardless.

A person that had been fighting an uphill battle on his own for far, far too long.

Keith reaches his arms out slightly—hardly even perceptibly, more of a twitch than anything—but he can tell Lance notices. His blurry eyes seem to track it.

“Now it’s time for you to let us _ help you_.” he begs softly with a hint of insistency. His voice is as gentle as he can manage when internally he wants to yell it and roughly shake Lance’s shoulders, and he doesn’t mean for his voice to break like it does, just a little bit, but it happens anyway.

Lance tenses, but he doesn’t step back. His jaw is stiffly shut, and there are still tears welling up in his eyes. He’s holding himself in a way that makes it look like he’s barely keeping everything inside.

“I….I _ can’t_.” he gasps, barely even at a whisper volume.

“You _ can_.” Keith says back, matching his volume but making up for it in bold intent.

Keith looks from side to side, gesturing around as if fishing through the air for words to say.

“Lance, you are,” he huffs impossibly, “you’re the fucking bravest person I know, you _ moron_. You can do this. I know you can. It’s going to be okay.”

Lance’s next breath hitches, and he looks away, embarrassed, right before his crossed arms come loose and Keith catches him tilting forward.

Keith allows himself to take a full, slow step closer as well, arms almost outstretched, and Lance flinches back at first but—

But then he moves his arms out as well, closing the distance, and surprise and shock slam him like a blow to the chest when and all of a sudden they’re hugging. Kind of. Keith is...is pretty sure they are, at least.

It’s awkward, and honestly pretty uncomfortable. Lance’s arms are barely putting any weight on him, and his torso is leaning away, keeping a gap between their chests that Keith doesn’t even think of pressing into. Keith himself doesn’t know where to put his hands, so they end up lightly ghosting over Lance’s upper back, close to his shoulders, while Lance’s are wrapped around his biceps with his hands gaining purchase with fistfuls of Keith’s shirt. They’re both relatively sweaty, and the wetness covering Lance’s face is smearing on Keith’s neck. Keith isn’t doing much better on that front though. His own eyes are stinging, throat tight.

But it feels _ right_. Not the most comfortable, as far as hugs go, and sure, it’s a little too moist for Keith’s personal preference, but it’s still up there as one of the best hugs Keith’s ever had. It still forces his lips up into something that he hopes resembles a smile. It still brings warmth to his chest that feels good. Feels like _ hope_.

And Keith feels nothing but solemn relief and that gentle fuzziness as they stand there together, looking like a couple of emotional idiots hugging in the middle of nowhere.

Keith can’t bring himself to give a fuck about how it looks.

Lance was going to be okay now. Not yet but...but he was _ going _to be.

Keith melts further into the hug, tension leaving him as his lips pull up.

It’s all going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't think of a single thing to say after all that, except for I have a huge summer assignment that's due in like. a few days that I've been stalling on because of this stupid thing and now I'm going to do that. if you commented on the last chapter, like a MEANINGFUL ass comment, and I still haven't replied, I will. I promise. I just can't do words..... :-(((( I read them and reread them and rereread them and they matter so much istg  
p.s if anyone makes fanart for this fic my molecules will individually combust as I throw myself screaming into the void, and I mean that in the absolute best way possible. my art insta is lonnie_bobonnie. just going to put that here. :-).

**Author's Note:**

> :-')  
aight yall hear me through please I  
this was going to be a oneshot but uhhhhh hey you know what? I'm already attached and emotionally invested in this storyline!!!! yay!!!!  
obviously, if this doesn't get any attention I'll have no reason to continue it, so give it some love in the comments! please! i'm desperate!  
okokok bye for now and im so sorry omg.


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